tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83155283675834959162024-03-13T11:35:13.178-05:00Prairie PonderingThoughts on Current Events in the Life and Times of an Urbanite Residing on the Minnesota PrairieSam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-45451097725420206932023-06-12T20:39:00.003-05:002023-06-12T20:40:44.103-05:00Enough Already<p> While lunching with Charlie Leck, who first inspired me to blog 15 years ago, I committed to returning to this site to ponder on the prairie. As I told Charlie, I gave up regular writing because it felt like I was coming across like little more than an angry old man. The shoe fit; I chose to wear it in private.</p><p>We are, however, at a point in our history where my, and your, silence in the face of concerted efforts to undermine the rule of law and our democratic institutions cannot be justified. This country is sliding towards fascism, where politicians are recognizing that minority viewpoints can rule the day if enough effort is put into castigating and silencing truth tellers by engaging in scapegoating, fear-mongering, and lying.</p><p>No where is this more evident than the GOP response to the 37 count indictment of Donald Trump for alleged violations of the Espionage Act. In the face of a detailed description of various illegal conduct, corroborated by the testimony of Trump's attorneys, photographs, and tape of Trump acknowledging an awareness of the wrongfulness of his actions, GOP lawmakers are railing against a "weaponized Justice Department" and calling for shutting down the investigation and the trial of Trump and the defunding of the FBI.</p><p>Having long abandoned any sense of irony, these defenders of an allegedly treasonous former president "forget" their calls to "lock her up" in response to Hilary Clinton's use of a private server for government business. Then, the GOP were experts in the law of safeguarding government secrets, regularly spinning horrific hypotheticals about the consequences of a foreign government accessing Clinton's secure server. Eight years later, Trump's storage of the country's most critical Defense secrets in banker boxes in publicly accessible locations in Mar-a-Lago, and Trump's actual sharing of Top Secret documents, as evidenced in authorized tape recordings, is a "Democratic hatchet job". </p><p>Also lost in the GOP angst is that their cult leader could have saved himself by merely responding as Mike Pence and Joe Biden did when government documents were found under their control. Just return the documents. There would have been no stomach to pursue the matter further. Rather, as described in the indictment in reliance on Trump employees' testimony, Trump engaged in a series of efforts to retain the documents, hide the documents, and, unsuccessfully, destroy the documents in order to avoid their discovery during ongoing investigations.</p><p>Reports I've read suggest that Trump retained the documents because he won't accept that he is no longer the president of the United States. I am not so quick to dismiss the possibility that Trump's behavior was based on a belief that the documents in his possession might be monetized. That is more in keeping with his history and, coupled with his string of surviving a long series of crises by whipping his adoring public into a frenzy to the point that applying normal standards, like examining documents and taking witness testimony, is politically inexpedient, a calculated risk for Trump.</p><p>It's clear that truth is not an obstacle for Trump and that getting 40% of the U.S. population to believe that the sky is green has served him well. But there is no excuse for those seeking to lead this nation after 2024 to repeat what they know to be falsehoods rather than speak truth to the cult. </p><p>The investigations of Trump are not witch hunts. Rather, they've resulted in the successful prosecution of several witches. Trump is being investigated by the Justice Department for Espionage Act violations and fomenting an insurrection against the United States of America because Trump engaged in conduct so egregious that to <u>not</u> pursue the investigations would undermine our criminal justice system. Trump is being investigated by the State of Georgia for election interference in 2020 because his recorded phone call evidences unlawful pressure on elected officials and criminal intent. Trump is being investigated by the State of New York because he falsified business records and took illegitimate tax deductions and got caught. </p><p>GOP politicians know all this but rather than call it out for what it is, legitimate enforcement of Federal and State criminal codes, they go along with the subterfuges and, justifying the ends, engage in means that rival the crowd control successes of Nazi Germany. I was castigated in 2015 on social media when I pointed out that Trump's campaign, based on scapegoating immigrants and Muslims and repeating falsehoods vigorously on a regular basis until accepted as fact, was taken right out of Joseph Goebbels' playbook. I knew I was right in 2015; I'm not surprised that the technique was woven into Trump's governing when it bore such fruit from the outset.</p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">According to Wikipedia, <span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">a "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">big lie"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> (German</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: white;">: </span></span><i lang="de" style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">große Lüge</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">) is a gross distortion or misrepresentation of the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truth" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #3366cc; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Truth">truth</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">, used especially as a propaganda</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> technique.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> The German expression was coined by Adolf Hitler</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">, when he dictated his book <i>Mein Kampf</i></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> (1925), to describe the use of a lie so colossal that no one would believe that someone "could have the impudence to distort the truth so infamously." Sound familiar?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Enough already. It's time, way past time, for our elected politicians, would be elected politicians, media moguls and talking heads, and blog and podcast purveyors to recognize that truth, justice, and the American way is not just a slogan for a super hero in the Fifties. The pursuit of truth and justice has been a bedrock of our democracy and sacrificing both for perceived electoral success brings high, unthinkable costs. I'm willing to give Trump the presumption of innocence until proven guilty, though it takes much restraint to do so. Trump's GOP sycophants show no such restraint when they seek to burn down the criminal justice system because their idol faces a trial where facts, not politics, will decide the outcome.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj96SSbAtnQ7BwMKr8gGPVucfsqs86lPhhxALMfITvjKLmDpyZw_n4HP2PVfR--NkzRIk2zuuvSShwyk7TmggkObQggolNwDqCx6uzXP3HVA6SDv-Z4FH9wm0hd5onJpISapUgtGifox5aP1ycENEwoCo8SJ9iDKbliLvyDR3NXTTZGnegzQaq2j9IG3g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="240" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj96SSbAtnQ7BwMKr8gGPVucfsqs86lPhhxALMfITvjKLmDpyZw_n4HP2PVfR--NkzRIk2zuuvSShwyk7TmggkObQggolNwDqCx6uzXP3HVA6SDv-Z4FH9wm0hd5onJpISapUgtGifox5aP1ycENEwoCo8SJ9iDKbliLvyDR3NXTTZGnegzQaq2j9IG3g=w370-h324" width="370" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><br /><br /></span></span><p></p>Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-87123355306008825112021-12-20T20:46:00.027-06:002021-12-20T21:34:46.832-06:00<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><b>2021 Holiday Greetings from Meadow Breeze Farm</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: helvetica;"><b>(Trigger Warning: Grumpy Old Man Authored)</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span> </span>Looking back on the past year, it is clear that my hope and my optimism for a better 2021 expressed on everyone’s behalf in last year’s Holiday Letter were not fully realized. It would be easy to spend the next few paragraphs ranting at the faux constitutional scholars and matchbox-licensed immunologists who refuse to get vaccinated for reasons that do not outweigh the societal consequences of their stubbornness (or make rational sense). In reality, nothing I write here is going to make a difference to anyone so concerned with their personal freedom and/or so confident in their online research that they’ll take direction from me. The rest of us are just going to have to let Nature run its course. </span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On a lighter note, 2021 offered much to be thankful for. The Stern Clan grew by one when Molly and Phil’s daughter Flora was born in January. Theo has been a loving big brother, quickly adjusting to graciously sharing the kvelling spotlight. While the pandemic has made it difficult to see the Minnesota grands as often as we’d like, we’ve managed to spend some quality time over the holidays and Deb has been lucky enough to babysit Flora a couple of times a week. Flora appears to share her brother’s love of books and definitely shares his love of the horses running around the farm. Theo is in second grade in a Spanish Immersion school in St. Louis Park. </div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOQSGFloO2ul1oVb7LCmxtY1V4_vyHa3y0iv5908JLvUUla8126p3mKO5awGG19818Jor2boxWB6TrRX69-znU-VTbaRiRyfWc0mSBcvJlbW70vV1EPF_gTYqwN8J8RVrTuZ5l9-shbS2FOihZqJSTOSJIDlz-Pjviu2-JfBsDJ5hk2rD8FFN7yjvYOQ=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOQSGFloO2ul1oVb7LCmxtY1V4_vyHa3y0iv5908JLvUUla8126p3mKO5awGG19818Jor2boxWB6TrRX69-znU-VTbaRiRyfWc0mSBcvJlbW70vV1EPF_gTYqwN8J8RVrTuZ5l9-shbS2FOihZqJSTOSJIDlz-Pjviu2-JfBsDJ5hk2rD8FFN7yjvYOQ=w400-h268" title="Theo turns 7" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDzLdlpUOmOEMgOc9jOH8mqOBBQ1X6pY0CYQuB8MamrNDBJv_RY4341bVk_S2WbzXRFqUQPYrbvSqoKOg_ZNUA17UcomQF_l25WtzQrlEav2b23hqsPjQWep20w64AQV3vkrHLSzQ8MmIN6jxmheGoNmAc_MdBKnpsTYqUj1AtUvtAacMVzKNGRcs1vA=w400-h268" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjn-kIO-tWbjMDykhD55h29_Es8aebj338ovuDMtKxKYm6P1T6RvF9f6X3xae0T1hJN0zDSu1HXOPb1k5uiptfve4T-50EKreFEIyiGB3yl6c3FZQXZHhHMpsX7jGLmPqtuK3F9_a99C-tKPoskWtS-UCEYXOhJvb4mGIOvnqi_la7CLuL-6eJw5DMyCw=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjn-kIO-tWbjMDykhD55h29_Es8aebj338ovuDMtKxKYm6P1T6RvF9f6X3xae0T1hJN0zDSu1HXOPb1k5uiptfve4T-50EKreFEIyiGB3yl6c3FZQXZHhHMpsX7jGLmPqtuK3F9_a99C-tKPoskWtS-UCEYXOhJvb4mGIOvnqi_la7CLuL-6eJw5DMyCw=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibiXaO_c9faZa_J5L5Je4FaBVtjnkUHVGD6HdNM4OafnivsghHp8RjvrQ3b_JM7Oc7HRRcSDhUKCgw3xRzvReVmpjXnsExkmT4XviBppQx2LzFw8ZD-fBjB2ge1ikPLUfW5acCc_5AqvmWddkTNZSUJtHTEygE5LkEmkGUJPTfIZCNIwecMu5g0BVQPg=s1280" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1275" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibiXaO_c9faZa_J5L5Je4FaBVtjnkUHVGD6HdNM4OafnivsghHp8RjvrQ3b_JM7Oc7HRRcSDhUKCgw3xRzvReVmpjXnsExkmT4XviBppQx2LzFw8ZD-fBjB2ge1ikPLUfW5acCc_5AqvmWddkTNZSUJtHTEygE5LkEmkGUJPTfIZCNIwecMu5g0BVQPg=s320" width="319" /></a></div><br /></span>In June, the James Gang made its second annual extended visit to Minnesota and Deb and I were lucky to share two months of quality time with Bennett, Miles, and Lucy (and Ellie and Matt). Lots of time was spent on the tree swings Deb set up and on Penny Pop Pop, the pony we bought last winter for the Grands to ride. The Grands loved playing outside, an impossibility in Phoenix in the summer. The dogs and cats and horses and sandboxes and pastures and hiking trails made Meadow Breeze the second happiest place on Earth, albeit safer than the claimant of that title. The visit was too short, but came to a necessary end so Bennett could return home to start pre-school.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhyc_pcU8zPIVMo9QSxCD_aJozJaPSWlX2nQcvVcn5dn0erGynTy2q9Kj9por5QL0pEazV1G3rCI-3CTj6pLBeqfbJOXJjTu2ONA0TimfeoUNNqAXMfVWfV8X_iJfo57tgZR5vXBRYRRtNK_Y-2NsWMeUSJ03hmkfwDxCFrQ5JboPkT8btIS74cEHxgYA=w400-h268" width="400" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If 2020 was the year where nothing happened, 2021 was the year where not much happened. For the most part, Deb and I hunkered down on the farm. I continued to work remotely, venturing into my urban office about once a week. We were thrilled to have law school friends Steve and Judy Berman stop by the farm for a few days in August on their drive home to Virginia after visiting San Francisco.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> We were able to resume traveling, primarily to visit family. I visited my dad and stepmother in Yuma for the first time in more than a year in March as soon as we were all vaccinated. I returned to Yuma in November for Dad’s 93rd birthday. Deb flew to Arizona later in the month and spent her birthday with Ellie, Matt, and the Arizona Grands. In August, I attended my nephew’s previously postponed wedding in Bethesda, Maryland, spent time with other nephews and nieces in town for the celebration, and had an emotional reunion lunch with beloved college classmate Richard Armstrong. In September, I flew to Napa for business and used the opportunity to have dinner with my cousins at Coppola’s winery in Geyserville.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipfccRuvQyoq9ZUpy8l7HhLaH9WZLonuYY8fB1nzDgg6FnK_6r1ookDa-5P6wvNLjvno46N92_TcrX-RT7D-f9LJYaT9iff9cOXHxsbjillhtFYwWb1nhoELUJkEsfOW1srMumjhoAODgZnFO-c3WsQDjXflx-4mIGyfPt82HPkb4CEksu_EmGLR7QqA=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipfccRuvQyoq9ZUpy8l7HhLaH9WZLonuYY8fB1nzDgg6FnK_6r1ookDa-5P6wvNLjvno46N92_TcrX-RT7D-f9LJYaT9iff9cOXHxsbjillhtFYwWb1nhoELUJkEsfOW1srMumjhoAODgZnFO-c3WsQDjXflx-4mIGyfPt82HPkb4CEksu_EmGLR7QqA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Deb remains happily retired and finds herself engaged full time running the farm and helping care for our grandchildren. She’s on horseback as much as time permits and manages the Stern menagerie, now consisting of two dogs, four cats, six boarded horses and four of our own horses, including Peppa Pony, a sweet new pony for the Grands. In her “spare time”, Deb maintains her tradition of creating gorgeous gardens all around the farm.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTm7v9ZVFueyGDaNDYVp3JTOC-OCwHGW5xNIgh-KbM2vEupsxygadpl6GZF01ZTkxCg0ZcJ2tI65EeNSqxWnoo6EcrJuXNUiKtG8my-91xq8CXE9SddJ4wdNYRCCo7U77lAx13C2cnR8rhp076eGyn-HrVIyNW808GE9_a0zblHJ0GThZIz-7cJXCvBA=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTm7v9ZVFueyGDaNDYVp3JTOC-OCwHGW5xNIgh-KbM2vEupsxygadpl6GZF01ZTkxCg0ZcJ2tI65EeNSqxWnoo6EcrJuXNUiKtG8my-91xq8CXE9SddJ4wdNYRCCo7U77lAx13C2cnR8rhp076eGyn-HrVIyNW808GE9_a0zblHJ0GThZIz-7cJXCvBA=w640-h428" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Bridge Law Group’s practice continues to grow, keeping me busy and helping time pass more quickly. I'm grateful that I work with a group of dedicated, smart professionals who have figured out how to thrive and take care of clients' needs under such challenging circumstances. My volunteer work with TruStone continued to take a considerable amount of time. In (or, perhaps, despite) my 11 years on the Board, the credit union has grown from $647,000 in assets to just shy of $4 billion. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My tenure as a TruStone Board member was extended for another 3-year term in April and I was re-elected to serve as the Chair of the TruStone Financial Foundation. The Foundation received a $1 million donation from the credit union at the end of 2020, making it possible to have a serious impact with grants to nonprofits in the communities served by TruStone. I still try to have a camera in hand whenever possible and was honored to be awarded the cover of the 2022 TruStone Calendar with an image I captured one-handed through an open passenger window while driving 70 m.p.h. outside of Gallup, New Mexico. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEictZYQdqDGXMS-GkING6-uyo3Ds6oM69NdHCWUTpXTvMk8RKTAubpZdcz25GI6Fr52XL8LfJ6la5JpS22qBiMpm5WF6JxsZe_IoVQmqMPuYCQpRHsII1chmpadOu6R-d1pM1vELrrxCjzR-XWulAtZwQVY9CRSZSuGU_03ZZSnCbzW33MdIApuqBppEQ=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEictZYQdqDGXMS-GkING6-uyo3Ds6oM69NdHCWUTpXTvMk8RKTAubpZdcz25GI6Fr52XL8LfJ6la5JpS22qBiMpm5WF6JxsZe_IoVQmqMPuYCQpRHsII1chmpadOu6R-d1pM1vELrrxCjzR-XWulAtZwQVY9CRSZSuGU_03ZZSnCbzW33MdIApuqBppEQ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Like everyone, Deb and I have pandemic fatigue. However, we’re smart enough to realize that this is the new reality and, whether or not we like it, complacency is not an option. We hope to be able to return to some version of normalcy in 2022, a real possibility if everyone does their part and follows medical experts’ advice (just like they ultimately do in the ICU).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Stay safe, get vaccinated, and have a happy and healthy New Year!<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgKlq8W1q9-VcU5qpUu_a_NdZjuPnU7jzuvReKnq1RA7MfNenj_n2F2hlhUX00e7xoNya95W14FJzAUG-B2AZ8m76VFTHubC7Cb1JOodzfFABnQcCq5JpfSBa66kjo-e5sJOMcEazqfBWFb5NC_1SvMYYWhyKfdLM2QdhW4h-jgn8vhe-Fa-pvJoHCcw=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1280" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgKlq8W1q9-VcU5qpUu_a_NdZjuPnU7jzuvReKnq1RA7MfNenj_n2F2hlhUX00e7xoNya95W14FJzAUG-B2AZ8m76VFTHubC7Cb1JOodzfFABnQcCq5JpfSBa66kjo-e5sJOMcEazqfBWFb5NC_1SvMYYWhyKfdLM2QdhW4h-jgn8vhe-Fa-pvJoHCcw=w400-h214" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-74500508977315044672020-12-10T07:54:00.000-06:002020-12-10T07:54:09.664-06:002020 Holiday Greetings from Meadow Breeze Farm<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i>WHERE</i></b> to begin? 2020 has not been the successful launch of the roaring new decade we all hoped for back in January. We’ve been challenged in ways that are still hard to fathom. We’ve been forced to look inward and ask if we are up to the task of modifying our behaviors in order to protect ourselves and our loved ones. We appreciate many of life’s simple pleasures, like an ample supply of toilet paper, and wonder if we’ll take all-day breakfast at McDonald’s for granted again if and when it returns. Deb and I join millions of involuntarily separated family members settling for Facetime and Zoom conference connections with our grandchildren. It’s like a post-apocalyptic novel, right down to the killer virus and the egomaniacal president, but, hey, at least my car is getting two weeks to the gallon.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>Travel in 2020 included San Francisco in February for a family reunion, Scottsdale in March to see the James Gang, and Delano, Long Lake, Maple Plain and Minneapolis during the rest of the year.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>Phil, Molly, and Theo (6) moved to Minnetonka to be closer to Phil’s and Theo’s schools and to have more room for Theo’s sister, due to arrive in early January. Phil teaches fifth grade in St. Louis Park. Theo is in first grade in the Spanish Immersion program at recently renovated Cedar Manor (where I went to kindergarten) when he’s allowed to attend class in person. Molly continues to work remotely for AFS Intercultural Programs. We’re excited that the family lives much closer now and look forward to being able to resume the weekly visits that ended with everything else.<br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SJ7_Ysu3mRsDu1Pf0v5q6XFPs7Cmc-5e18je_5TdbBru5znBKUkFPw-U74pYP55qRWV2IywcAudI4uEsqlHz5HWKRNwQx6I_8epSUYRx4UJXDEL-Ocab3cK59GYPlgNQkShnxJd6mim5/s2048/Holiday+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1434" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SJ7_Ysu3mRsDu1Pf0v5q6XFPs7Cmc-5e18je_5TdbBru5znBKUkFPw-U74pYP55qRWV2IywcAudI4uEsqlHz5HWKRNwQx6I_8epSUYRx4UJXDEL-Ocab3cK59GYPlgNQkShnxJd6mim5/w281-h401/Holiday+Collage.jpg" title="The Grands" width="281" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: arial;">Ellie, Matt, Bennett (4), Miles (2), and Lucy (2) came to Minnesota at the end of April to quarantine on the farm. They did not return to Phoenix until mid-August, giving Deb and me an extraordinary amount of time to spend with the James Gang. The Grands had a magical summer, spent mostly outdoors since constant 114° weather was not an issue. The farm provided all kinds of entertainment and wonderment for the Grands, including pony riding on Trixie Trot Trot, playing with a litter of kittens born in May, and walks on the Luce Line.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Saying “goodbye” in August was probably the hardest part of the pandemic since it’s not clear when we’ll all be together again. On the other hand, we had almost four months to observe my daughter’s and son-in-law’s nurturing and patience as parents and know the Grands are thriving.</span></div></span><p></p><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>Deb and I celebrated our 40<sup>th</sup> anniversary in November with, of course, a Zoom party with the “kids” and the Grands. Deb retired completely this year, deciding not to pick up occasional shifts at Hennepin HealthCare once the James Gang returned to Arizona. She continues to be a whirlwind of activity, never slowing down in her roles of grandma, farm manager, ranch hand, gardener, equestrian, homemaker, devoted friend, and loving wife. There are now nine horses to care for on the farm, including the newest addition, Penny Pop Pop, a Halflinger pony acquired for the Grands after Trixie Trot Trot succumbed to old age. There’s also two dogs and five cats. There’s never nothing to do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 6px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>I’ve been working remotely 99% of the time since March 17<sup>th</sup>. We’ve stayed busy at Bridge Law Group and it’s hard to believe that the firm has practiced apart from one another for more than eight months. We all have a wonderful working relationship and manage to stay connected through thrice weekly Zoom conferences. Besides practicing law, I’m celebrating my tenth year on the board of TruStone Financial Credit Union and serving my second term as chairman of the board of the TruStone Financial Foundation. In my spare time, I’m still a photographer.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span>We look forward to being able to congregate with our friends and family in person before too much longer. We hope and pray that you all stay safe and take solace in your ability to rise to the challenges forced upon us, managing to survive, or thrive, in spite of all the strangeness. Have a joyful, healthy, safe holiday season and save me a hug. I miss them.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year!</span></i></b></p><p></p><p class="p5" style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sam & Deb</span></p>Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-88903527588912231522020-03-18T23:14:00.002-05:002020-03-18T23:14:39.056-05:00Living with the End in MindAs my FaceBook friends know, I have been supportive of the work of the End in Mind Project, a nonprofit founded by MPR journalist Cathy Wurzer in furtherance of her work with the late Bruce Kramer. My involvement started out as a volunteer photographer, memorializing events hosted by Cathy and giving me the opportunity to repeatedly receive the message of living life to the fullest at each of life's stages.<br />
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Cathy and the organization encourage us to <i>live more and fear less</i>. Inevitably, we all die. Communicating with loved ones and friends about how we want to face the inevitable, while still an unscheduled certainty, frees us to celebrate the lives and relationships we have right up until when we don't.<br />
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The last few weeks have sharply focused the need for the lessons of the End in Mind Project. Rather than being some amorphous concept that we'll deal with when we have time, Death has come calling globally in the form of Covid-19. Death teases us, leaving us to wonder if we will be part of the 40% likely to become infected, part of the 20% of the infected who experience serious health problems, or among the 3% of the virus' hosts who do not survive.<br />
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The reality of the situation we find ourselves in, forced to self-isolate, unable to carry on normal day-to-day activities like going to school or movies or restaurants, and clueless about if and when things will ever be "normal" again, gives considerable pause. It's as if we are in a perpetual backwards day and the concept of living more and fearing less seems other worldly.<br />
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Somewhere around the age of 8, Ian Fleming conveyed a life lesson that I've taken to heart for 60 years. He included a haiku in <u>You Only Live Twice</u>:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You only live twice</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once when you're born</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And once when you look death in the face.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfW_X0qclwffRVF0Ist4PF3z8uF2QGgL2TUToZKYPEZU29dKIgtoIzcXPhkQie_9Pv5ZD1Rfmx3c8_831KA9Gvro7B3Yj2IqPVmQNb70o2jJTd_tdYPssHyepNK8e_wRgqyL4WDwEVTQ5/s1600/D3932CD8-8A7A-47F2-9ACF-10E1403DDC36_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="937" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfW_X0qclwffRVF0Ist4PF3z8uF2QGgL2TUToZKYPEZU29dKIgtoIzcXPhkQie_9Pv5ZD1Rfmx3c8_831KA9Gvro7B3Yj2IqPVmQNb70o2jJTd_tdYPssHyepNK8e_wRgqyL4WDwEVTQ5/s400/D3932CD8-8A7A-47F2-9ACF-10E1403DDC36_1_201_a.jpeg" width="233" /></a><br />
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Over the years, I've had different thoughts about the meaning of the poem. But today, as we're all looking Death in the face, I accept the lesson as an admonishment not to waste this second life.<br />
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I have no way of knowing if I am going to survive this pandemic but I refuse to wallow in anxiety and self-pity waiting to find out. Life is much different than it was two months ago. But it <u>is</u> life.<br />
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While taking recommended steps to reduce my risk of being infected, I am not disassociating from everything dear to me. I can keep up with family and friends on social media and by phone or video conferencing. While I'd prefer meeting over a vodka with extra olives at the Monte, electronic discourse and full pours at home will suffice for now. My Amazon Prime, HBO, Showtime, Disney+, AppleTV, and Netflix options are overwhelming. I'm finally getting around to reading James Clavell's <u>Gaijin</u>. I've put that off forever because once I'm done, there are no Clavell chronicles left to read. Under the circumstances (the part about not knowing if I'll survive), it's time.<br />
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Let's all take Cathy Wurzer's lead and find ways to live as fully as possible in the face of adversity and notwithstanding the ultimate inevitability. Go to <a href="http://www.endinmindproject.org/">www.endinmindproject.org</a> for information on the nonprofit and its work, resources to draw on, and the opportunity to provide financial support.<br />
<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-49776740542248778892019-12-19T22:03:00.000-06:002019-12-20T05:55:51.590-06:00Grumpy Old Man<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqZFZaM_7QVY-ELKcoELKiB9xJPqMVKnd98b1E1ANbgBhFDXu2Hn4EJiumoxGwlL36kNKdtz5f33U6ANkLcIau3V8RDx-2sVMF6Q5NkDyqNWiMGY-J-Y2zTnH8OpEfJA2C74ZkZcIiD1m/s1600/Eagle+Flag+Portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqZFZaM_7QVY-ELKcoELKiB9xJPqMVKnd98b1E1ANbgBhFDXu2Hn4EJiumoxGwlL36kNKdtz5f33U6ANkLcIau3V8RDx-2sVMF6Q5NkDyqNWiMGY-J-Y2zTnH8OpEfJA2C74ZkZcIiD1m/s400/Eagle+Flag+Portrait.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My Facebook profile claims that I blog at www. prairiepondering.com. My personal email signature </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">includes a link to the Prairie Pondering URL. Yet if you visit this site, you will see that since August, 2016, I have only "pondered" four times. Not much of a blogger.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A few years ago, I posted regularly. I stopped doing so when writing made me increasingly angry and frustrated about the state of the country and the world. I was less frustrated if I avoided the focus that writing requires. I chose to seethe in private rather than rant in Prairie Pondering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think the time has come to stop being so unengaged. Repeating Big Lies to numb meaningful debate only succeeds if the falsehoods go unchallenged. I am still angry; I am still frustrated. But that is the new norm among American liberals as the decade ends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The House of Representatives passed two Articles of Impeachment yesterday. I watched/listened to the debates as background noise at the office, dismayed that the Republicans were allowed to defend Trump by unabashedly droning on with half truths and outright falsehoods without consequence. However, the willingness of recently elected House Democrats from pro-Trump districts to vote their conscience regardless of the political consequences spurred me to return to Prairie Pondering. My public display of conscience is considerably less consequential but every little bit helps.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Watching the impeachment proceedings, I wished that I had the power to interject my responses to various claims as they were being made, putting them on the screen as thought balloons. Here's a few samples:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>GOP</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Do nothing Democrats should quit wasting time on impeachment and do their jobs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>SLS</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The House of Representatives has passed 400 bills, 279 on a bi-partisan basis, that Mitch McConnell will not allow to be voted on in the Senate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>GOP</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">House Democrats conducted an inquisition in secret in locked rooms in the basement of the Capitol without affording the president the due process guaranteed by the Constitution.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>SLS</b>: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Closed door examinations were conducted in front of both Democratic and Republican Representatives and transcripts of testimony were released. None of the Republicans present claimed that the testimony of the witnesses was misreported. Targets of an investigation are not typically allowed to confront accusers before charges are brought. The presence of Republican House members in the investigations with an ability to ask questions of witnesses prevented the target from being railroaded.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>GOP</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Democrats have wasted millions of dollars with bogus investigations of the president.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>SLS</b>: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Robert Mueller's prosecution of Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort resulted in recoveries in excess of the cost of his investigation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>GOP</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trump released the funds being withheld from Ukraine voluntarily, without receiving any commitment to investigate Joe Biden.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>SLS</b>: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The funds were withheld until the public disclosure of the existence of the Whistleblower complaint suggesting improper conduct by the president forced the president to abandon his extortion scheme.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>GOP</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The transcript of the president's July 25th phone call with the Ukrainian president was "perfect".</span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">SLS:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It depends on what your definition of "though" is and witnesses who were on the call testified that there were material omissions from the "transcript", excised to support the president's narrative.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />GOP</b>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Democrats are proceeding with impeachment in reliance on anonymous whistleblowers and hearsay. There is no direct evidence of wrong-doing by the president.</span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">SLS:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Chutzpah" is defined as (a) killing both parents and then throwing yourself on the mercy of the court because you are an orphan, and (b) instructing witnesses with direct knowledge of the events giving rise to impeachment charges not to testify and refusing to turn over relevant documents subpoenaed by Congress, and then ranting and raving that Democrats are proceeding with impeachment in reliance on anonymous whistleblowers and hearsay and that there is no direct evidence of wrong-doing by the president.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks for indulging me. I'll return to Prairie Pondering from time to time. Some of you may not like what I have to say. We have much in common because I don't like to have to say it. </span><br />
<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-4975683330939417152018-04-14T22:04:00.000-05:002018-04-14T22:26:02.597-05:00The Wait: Love, Fear, and Happiness on the Heart Transplant List (a review)<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39401103-the-wait" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px; text-align: justify;"><img alt="The Wait: Love, Fear, and Happiness on the Heart Transplant List" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1521905101m/39401103.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39401103-the-wait">The Wait: Love, Fear, and Happiness on the Heart Transplant List</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8111283.Jennifer_Bonner">Jennifer Bonner</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2361657086">5 of 5 stars</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I never watched the movie <i>Love Story</i>, the romantic tragedy based on the Erich Segal novel. It was released on December 16, 1970, two days after my mother succumbed to breast cancer and I saw no need to pursue entertainment, or enlightenment, from reminders of my own experience with life’s unfairness. This aversion, packed away with my avoidance of slasher movies and Mexican restaurants, has served me well for nearly 50 years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Therefore, it was with some trepidation that I picked up <i>The Wait (Love, Fear and Happiness on the Heart Transplant List)</i>, Jennifer Bonner’s and Susan Cushman’s brilliant narrative of the life and times of Jen as a young adult, thriving in her own way with a congenital heart defect. <i>The Wait</i> draws extensively from Jen’s daily diary, revealing the psyche of a vivacious (in its intended sense), witty, self-aware, compassionate, artistic and realistic college co-ed. My years at Carleton College, the setting for much of the book, and my deep and abiding respect for Jen’s parents, mandated investing in Jen’s story. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I will take the dividends to my grave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cushman, a retired physician, offers us remarkably understandable descriptions of the medical challenges faced by Jen and her family. We are guided through some of the breakthroughs in heart surgery and transplantation that make today’s procedures so commonplace and, as in 1988, make the shortage of donors a major impediment faced by the practice. Cushman also provides sufficient, but not overbearing, narrative to help us put Jen’s diary in context, allowing us to focus on the wisdom offered by a remarkable young woman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jen Bonner does not deny the seriousness of her health challenges. But neither does she allow herself to be subsumed by them. Her diary reflects what I am told are normal yearnings of maturing young women, with a twist: <i>Someday I’m going to graduate. Someday I’ll get a job. Someday, I’ll get married. Someday, I’ll get a heart transplant.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">An accomplished artist, Jen joyfully celebrates the accolades received for her work, yet gratefully accepts criticism from a visiting professor, knowing it will allow her to hone her skills as she dreams of someday supporting herself with her art. Jen’s musings about her love interests, expressions of sexual desire, jealousies and fantasies permeate the diary, underscoring the normalcy she pursues during The Wait and reminding the author and the reader that Jen focused on long-term goals that loomed beyond pre-transplant physical limitations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally, Jen, at 20, understands far better than most of us, despite our additional<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span> years of experience, the importance of celebrating the big and the little beauties life has to offer. Her cognizance jumps from the pages of her diary and, whether discussing her art (<i>If I can paint something that will shift someone’s balance toward beauty, I will have contributed to their overall happiness and to what I consider to be the base intent, purpose, and necessity of life.</i>), or what should be important to us all (<i>I am blessed with the beauty in my life. Loving parents, many friends, good food, my own studio–I have my own studio! Life is beautiful. I will enjoy however much I get and whatever form it comes in.</i>), Jen Bonner, with Susan Cushman, makes us rethink our priorities as we move through life in the midst of our own Wait.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/6193271-sam-stern">View all my reviews</a><br />
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-51592214329626285522018-02-24T12:24:00.000-06:002018-02-24T12:47:21.004-06:00Help with the Laundry<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A month ago, I had two brothers.
Now I have one. A week ago, three happy dogs romped on Meadow Breeze Farm. Now
there are two, and they don’t seem as happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Since January 21, 2018, I have been reminded that the waves of sadness, helplessness, anxiety and
depression that come to shore after the death of a loved one become more bearable
when surrounded by others willing to reach out with gestures of kindness and
support. This return to <i>Prairie Pondering</i> is meant to convey my deepest thanks
for those gestures and to encourage the same selflessness on behalf of others
in need.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There’s a scene in </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Robin and
the Seven Hoods</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, a 1964 Rat Pack classic, where Frank Sinatra’s Robbo is
asked by Peter Falk’s Guy Gisborne if Robbo wants help taking care of the
crooked sheriff who arranged the ambush of Robbo’s mentor, Big Jim. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“We do
our own laundry,”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">replied Robbo, declining assistance.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As is the case with much of my
training in the <i>Tao of Frank</i>, that scene has stuck with me over the half
century since I first heard the words. Handling problems without relying on
others and maintaining control is etched into my psyche. To be clear, I <u>have</u>
availed myself of the assistance of many a guardian angel, but my inclination
is always to go it alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What I’ve referred to as my “firstborn
syndrome” during conversations outside my comfort zone requires that I be the
stoic in the family or circle of friends, taking charge in the event of a
crisis or tragedy. Grieving is typically internalized and providing comfort to a
fellow despondent sustains me until the shock fades with time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I grieve openly, I am losing
control. I am losing my ability to rise above the whirlwind of emotions
surrounding me and be the stable influence needed to dial back the storm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The problem, of course, is that
doing that much laundry over so many years takes its toll. Repeated internalization
of grieving becomes chronic anxiety over the pressure to continue on as the
paragon of stability.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Such was the case when I received
a phone call from my nephew on the evening of January 21<sup>st</sup>, telling
me through sobs that my brother Harlan had fallen at home alone and died. The
momentary glee at seeing Adam’s name on caller ID instantly transformed to
numbness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcS2o8z4nRHdkPk-M8p-y9ElZvzzdoWoVKeR7AlrrOTq-faQp21EP9e6Sd6SN4FO_xFMou_B7sBVec691uRTU4v3TNQOT3Gdl7eVbaSlyjnys06NWzwjwWCehcchEcSiN9dJMa0E7gzzRf/s1600/21743074_10155289820889213_8924738315388107317_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcS2o8z4nRHdkPk-M8p-y9ElZvzzdoWoVKeR7AlrrOTq-faQp21EP9e6Sd6SN4FO_xFMou_B7sBVec691uRTU4v3TNQOT3Gdl7eVbaSlyjnys06NWzwjwWCehcchEcSiN9dJMa0E7gzzRf/s320/21743074_10155289820889213_8924738315388107317_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I shed no tears. I opened a very expensive bottle of Scotch that I had been saving for the right occasion (never
dreaming), drank it neat, went into firstborn mode, and started making calls.
Without breaking down, I delivered the horrible, horrible news to my 89
year-old father, my surviving brother, some first cousins and a few others who
needed to hear the news from me and not on social media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When the news did break on social
media and in a more traditional obituary, the response was overwhelming and
enlightening. I was inundated with condolence messages from extended family,
friends, friends of my brother, friends of other family members, acquaintances
of varying degrees, down to the most tenuous of relationships, and even persons
with unknown connections taking the time to offer words of comfort.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Harlan’s funeral and the gatherings
at synagogue in the evenings that followed were similarly therapeutic. Temple
of Aaron, which I last attended in October to watch Harlan receive a lifetime
award for his volunteerism, was filled as if it was the High Holidays. The family
was sequestered beforehand, so I was unable to interact with attendees, but a
subsequent review of the guest book made me realize how many people attended
just to show <u>me</u> their support. These attendees were friends and colleagues who had
never met Harlan. Yet, they left the warmth of their home or office on a
bitterly cold day to drive to St. Paul to spend a couple of hours making their
presence known. For my benefit. To help me heal. To help with my laundry.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This week, I had to call the farm
vet to come to the house to put our 14 year-old Basset/Shepard CJ to sleep. CJ's recurring violent seizures, despite being on strong medication, were clearly
terrorizing him and were becoming more frequent. With Deb out of town and me at the office, I could not stand the thought of our boy going through another seizure alone and I made a heart wrenching decision to allow him to find peace. There is a big hole at the
farm without CJ’s presence. He’d been here for all but 11 months of our 14
years in the country.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I posted about the loss on
Facebook and, again, was deluged with words of support and understanding in
response. In fact, the 212 reactions and nearly as many comments may be the
most in response to anything I have ever posted on social media. What I had
intended as a tribute to one of my best friends became the vehicle for
replacing my dejection with loving support. There are constant, depressing,
reminders of CJ’s absence from Meadow Breeze. I have taken to mitigating the
impact of the reminders by returning to the Facebook comments and taking
comfort from both their words and the mere fact that the authors cared enough
about my emotional well-being to announce their concern.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We all die. We all experience the
death of others. The fact that so many individuals would take time from their
regular routine to reach out to me and my family to contribute to the healing
process is as reaffirming a testament to the humanity of our community as I
have thought possible in recent years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Communicating about death need
not be difficult. I am not unique in my reaction to the kindness conveyed by as
little as the words “sorry for your loss”. Even if your relationship to the mourner
is no closer than the fact that you are aware of the loss, let them know that their
grief is not being suffered in isolation. Social media postings, cards, phone
calls, emails and personal visits each provide solace to the recipient and help
them adjust to their new reality with the strength inherent in knowing that
they are not alone in the task. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was taught decades ago that
consoling the bereaved is one of the greatest <i>mitzvot</i> (good deeds) God commands
us to perform. As one recently consoled, I am reminded of the wisdom of the commandment.
Having been elevated from the depths of despair by so many of you, I am
determined to be better at contributing to the uplifting of the spirit of
others suffering losses of their own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-28828098228641954592017-03-17T00:11:00.001-05:002017-03-17T00:17:34.707-05:00Thank You from a Humbled Birthday Boy<span style="font-size: large;">I have the benefit of two extra hours in which to celebrate my birthday this year. Flying to Phoenix from Minneapolis bestowed this blessing upon me. Fittingly, I have decided to use the extra time to <u>try</u> to thank all of you who took time today to bestow your own blessings on me and our relationship.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Wow" is the word the keeps coming to mind as I try to find a way to express how overwhelmed with gratitude I have been all day seeing greetings from friends all over the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It started this morning as I teared up reading what lifelong friend, Dr. David Ketroser, posted on our high school class' daily birthday greeting page. Then I chuckled when I read P.R. Genius Blois Olson's birthday listings in today's Morning Take newsletter and found myself described as "attorney <i>and connector</i>". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But nothing prepared me for the flood of well-wishing that arrived on my Facebook timeline, in my email inbox and as voicemail messages throughout the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Each greeting was precious, from the simplest "HBD" to Les Harris' annual birthday artwork. The humorous, like Susan Cushman's reference to being the 5,000th Facebook friend to convey greetings, the insightful, like Peter Dansky's invoking my Italian mentee, the loving, like references to "Uncle Sam" from several young adults I've known since their birth, the spectacular, like Wayne Klayman's obituary quality commentary, and everything in between, communicated the existence of connections that I'd best not take for granted.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As Dean Martin asked in the original <i>Ocean's 11</i>, how lucky can one guy be? <u>This</u> guy just tries to treat people with the dignity and respect they deserve. This guy expects nothing in return. Nevertheless, you persisted in demonstrating your appreciation for whatever binds us through your well-wishing. In doing so, you made me want to continue to convey, through words and actions, how much each and every one of you sustain me and guide me to be an even better friend worthy of your time 365 days a year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I said, "wow". And thank you for each and every birthday greeting.</span><br />
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<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-73404675826806897412016-08-17T15:43:00.001-05:002016-08-17T16:51:40.959-05:00Leopard Spots<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">With a generally positive response to last night's speech in West Bend, Wisconsin, delivered with the aid of a teleprompter, and with this morning's shake-up of Donald Trump's campaign staff, there is much speculation that the candidate has finally been convinced to "pivot", stay on message and act more presidential.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">GOP pundits across the board have been opining that their candidate's only hope of closing the apparent gap in support existing between him and Hillary Clinton arises from such a pivot. Effectively, this acknowledges that if the general electorate draws its impressions from Trump's words and actions of the past 15 months, Trump loses in the general election.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thinking about this dilemma the GOP faces, I am reminded of the adage about a leopard changing its spots. If Trump is unelectable when his handlers "let Trump be Trump", what makes him entitled to the presidency if he modifies his behavior temporarily to comport with the dictates of political consultants? Clearly, when done role-playing after the election, he will "pivot" back to the pre-August 16, 2016 version of himself. Do voters who cannot bring themselves to vote for the candidate on display for 15 months really believe that an imposed upgrade to Trump 2.0 is deserving of their confidence, trust and respect?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If "pivoting" works, the Clinton campaign should just announce that HRC is honest, trustworthy and will be eligible for sainthood some day. All of the missteps and (alleged) shady dealings are a thing of the past and can be ignored going forward. She should also quit yelling at all of her appearances. Her pivot would wipe out any misgivings about her fitness for office and she'd win by a landslide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">There are no do overs in reality. Records have been established and bear ongoing scrutiny. Both of the pivot scenarios are ridiculous, which is why I am flabbergasted that one of them is being taken seriously. As I pondered in this blog last week, support based on faith finds no obstacles in the truth.</span></div>
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-88411272893112265072016-08-09T00:06:00.000-05:002016-08-09T07:23:26.662-05:00It's All About Faith<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">If Facebook had existed during the time of Moses, vociferous, passionate supporters would be touting his candidacy in the forthcoming election for the first leader of Israel by citing Moses' personal relationship with God, his ability to communicate with talking bushes, his ability to cut good deals with Pharaoh, his military prowess demonstrated by parting the Red Sea and then drowning the Egyptian army, his survival prowess shown by his solitude on Mount Sinai and his strict construction of 10 Commandments received on account of the aforementioned personal relationship.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It being Facebook, there would be equally vociferous, passionate supporters of Joshua, arguing that after 40 years in the desert, Moses was not fit to serve as leader in the Promised Land. Had Joshua been in charge, the Hebrews' exile in the wilderness would have taken no more than five years. Moreover, they would point out, Moses is clearly a liar, making up stories about his imaginary Friend and claiming to have accomplished clearly impossible tasks some 40 years earlier for the purpose of self-promotion. Such a liar and mentally unstable braggart can not be trusted with the mantle of commander in chief after leaving the Sinai.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">There was no Facebook as my people crossed the Jordan River a few thousand years ago. The absence of mass media espousing contrary views allowed Moses' version of events to become gospel (pun intended) and be honored annually throughout the world in the telling of the Passover story. Jews do not dismiss the stories of the Hebrews' escape from slavery at the hands of the Egyptians, wandering in the desert, accepting the Torah and reclaiming the Eretz Israel because the specifics defy common sense. We accept the stories, and worship Moses' imaginary Friend, as a matter of <b>faith</b>. No amount of derision, appeals to logic, name-calling, or public shaming can shake that faith. It just is, with no regard for what your definition of "is" is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today, a few years later, as evidenced by Facebook and elsewhere, there is a large group of vociferous, passionate supporters touting the candidacy of Donald J. Trump in the forthcoming election for President of the United States. Unlike the elections of 2008 and 2012, where I also strongly disagreed with the proposed policies of the respective GOP candidates, I have been particularly publicly critical of the Trump candidacy. I have repeatedly posted my own criticisms and have shared others' posts which reflected my viewpoints. I have been unabashedly derisive. I have appealed to logic. I have engaged in name-calling (#pigeons) and have publicly shamed Trump's supporters. I have lost respect for individuals I had believed shared my perception of basic human decency but whose defense of Trump led me to another conclusion and who I decided to "unfriend" in order to avoid additional angst over my misjudgment.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This past weekend, I had an epiphany and have decided to re-direct my efforts. I realized that many of Trump's vociferous, passionate supporters are, like Jews at a Seder, acting on <b>faith</b> (the rest are acting for various self-serving purposes). Their support of Trump's ideology and proposed solutions to perceived problems rests on their collective faith that he has the power to (wait for it) make America great again. The absence of specifics, the clearly demonstrable hypocrisy and the impossibility of many of Trump's proposals are no more relevant than the likelihood that Moses did not take direction from a burning bush. I no longer believe it is possible to dissuade the Trumpish from worshipping the Donald. While this is incredibly frustrating to those of us who believe that Trump represents an existential threat to the Republic, we need to accept the fact that our efforts are better spent on alternatives to converting the Trumpish. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I intend to work to reach the "agnostics" among the electorate and offer clear choices based on my view, admittedly, of good governance, tolerance, fairness and reasonable expectations. This country has serious problems that need to be addressed in a manner that might actually start the process of achieving resolutions. There will not be any overnight fixes; some might take another 40 years. Hopefully I can make a difference and help deliver additional support to Secretary Clinton so that in November the Trumpish will go the way of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Know_Nothing" target="_blank">Know Nothing movement</a>, whose followers shared many of the Trumpish' grievances.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Watch this space.</span></div>
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-83984815388475823952016-07-08T06:50:00.000-05:002016-07-08T07:59:52.551-05:00The Horror in Dallas<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">"</span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">A well regulated
militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the
People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." <i>2nd
Amendment, U.S. Constitution</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I
have a recurring thought. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">From
the point of view of the People who believe law enforcement is acting as the
judge, jury and executioner of innocent civilians with broken taillights, the
Second Amendment, as written and as interpreted by the Supreme Court, justifies
forming a militia to provide security and defend against the tyranny of the
government.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Who
decides when perceived tyranny rises to the level of justifying a well
regulated militia's response? </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">What
happened in Dallas last night represents the logical result of deciding to
exercise the rights inherent in the NRA's oft stated justification for broadly
interpreting the 2nd Amendment. The fact that the murderers acted illegally is
irrelevant since any armed insurrection against an established government will
remain illegal until the rebels prevail.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">240
years ago, the Colonies rose up against their sovereign decrying "taxation
without representation". Lexington and Concord hosted the shots heard
around the world. 240 years from now, if there's anybody left, an armed revolt
in response to "execution without adjudication" may be viewed to have
started in Dallas.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">This
is madness.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-13057224660363703222014-08-24T21:55:00.000-05:002014-08-25T06:54:31.826-05:00Father of the Bride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbUwfNdNg-v2niTpdRUTJOkTCAnr22cvC936SBTZkX3ftZJj1ue_pXvIoonqjjNLXOTCTuynsNGCbfGmE5Y7v5kRreKwY927m7UATpoYKcHQR3ue5g1yosrAjmMgRRLBiU_rGgB65MpHt/s1600/1614626_10152487071214213_2687729498863787340_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbUwfNdNg-v2niTpdRUTJOkTCAnr22cvC936SBTZkX3ftZJj1ue_pXvIoonqjjNLXOTCTuynsNGCbfGmE5Y7v5kRreKwY927m7UATpoYKcHQR3ue5g1yosrAjmMgRRLBiU_rGgB65MpHt/s1600/1614626_10152487071214213_2687729498863787340_o.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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At year's end, more than one friend observed that 2014 would be a big year for Deb and me. We looked forward to the birth of our first grandchild and to the wedding of our daughter. Theodore Irving arrived on May 16th. Yesterday, I walked my princess down the aisle after we were delivered to the ceremonial site by horse drawn carriage. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As predicted by Rabbi Norman Cohen during the service, I will blog more about the experience once I've had the opportunity to let the emotions of my daughter's wedding settle a bit. As was the case with the birth of my children and my grandson, no discussion or contemplation prepared me for the waves of joyous emotion that washed over me all weekend long.</div>
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In the meantime, by request, I'm publishing my Father of the Bride speech and a few snaps taken by friends George Dow and Ron Levitus. Talk to you soon.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4Vd9qS10997N06EBusQXcF8_x5W2E7jtestUu5098A2io3_9299IZAViEl458FxVB3F-MsH1wFpdQIWhefLl0oe7BvE4vDehfeG7RbPhqiRPi9r4d_4SYprKCo7Zjta-Fk7kEpUzlzkz/s1600/10638971_10152487824269213_1722616562_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4Vd9qS10997N06EBusQXcF8_x5W2E7jtestUu5098A2io3_9299IZAViEl458FxVB3F-MsH1wFpdQIWhefLl0oe7BvE4vDehfeG7RbPhqiRPi9r4d_4SYprKCo7Zjta-Fk7kEpUzlzkz/s1600/10638971_10152487824269213_1722616562_o.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a>Welcome to Meadow
Breeze Farm. So many of you
have traveled great distances to share this celebration and Deb and I are
thrilled to have you join us at our home. Ellie wanted a meaningful venue for
her once in a lifetime ceremony and, as usual, her sense of style, and her
determination, were unstoppable. </div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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I’ve often
thought, during years of traveling to Arizona, that I’m lucky enough to
experience and appreciate the beauty of both the desert southwest and the
majesty of Minnesota’s lushness. I hope that our visitors this weekend have had
the opportunity to appreciate the magnificence of our northern greenery as well
as the moderate summer temperatures. Minnesotans call this “hotter than Hell”,
but, if you ask Garrison Keillor, he’ll tell you we never go there to actually
compare.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ldo-RISiSVLIFmn1ENduThLp6lFJTZoM61UoUC9Rwj0pmkdN1Yhw94Hj0yJFLJRVqu6unRZCLA0MTPrGKNoauW3DYWZJ46J98Z934v2ww1QEsCQGcWG1pKfrgMrZ9XgpPJ368m-acG1P/s1600/10582307_10152487822419213_1276115505_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Ldo-RISiSVLIFmn1ENduThLp6lFJTZoM61UoUC9Rwj0pmkdN1Yhw94Hj0yJFLJRVqu6unRZCLA0MTPrGKNoauW3DYWZJ46J98Z934v2ww1QEsCQGcWG1pKfrgMrZ9XgpPJ368m-acG1P/s1600/10582307_10152487822419213_1276115505_o.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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Before I address
Matthew and Ellie, I need to thank <u>my</u> bride, Deb, for all of her hard
work creating our wedding site. Thank you, too, from the bottom of our hearts
to EVERYONE who contributed so much. Chupah building, flower arranging, garden
watering, barn painting, DVD burning. It was a labor of love to honor Matt and
Ellie by so many. Thank you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ellie, this is the
hardest speech I’ve ever had to write and deliver. Fortunately, it’s the last
one I’ll ever need to deliver. After the bar and bat mitzvahs and the weddings,
no one needs to hear from the Papa. Even if I end up writing another political
speech someday, someone else will do the talking. I’ve always been a staff guy.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Because it’s the
last, I wanted it to be perfect, somehow discernable between my sobs. Because
you’re my precious daughter, I want it to be perfect as I tell all your friends
and expanded family how much I love you, how proud I am of you and how happy I
am that <a href="http://youtu.be/Yd2dJhwRyCM" target="_blank">you and Matthew have found one another</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4f6wiAnv9Za2-O8G68wQ2foKN4BlVY9RazkLIKtCIzDZbjtO9Dj5Of6fmmkHDaVtJUnlOhqGu3XDoI1wCy2XoCMnuMktD16DUKNl66eJR6TO1Q5UT1s0F-7cHEwFIzZ3vegKTLtkyhq58/s1600/10339378_10152488365924213_3368205995143076291_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4f6wiAnv9Za2-O8G68wQ2foKN4BlVY9RazkLIKtCIzDZbjtO9Dj5Of6fmmkHDaVtJUnlOhqGu3XDoI1wCy2XoCMnuMktD16DUKNl66eJR6TO1Q5UT1s0F-7cHEwFIzZ3vegKTLtkyhq58/s1600/10339378_10152488365924213_3368205995143076291_o.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a>You are named, in
part, after my grandmother, my beloved Nana. You share her beauty,
intelligence, independence, drive, passion, love of style and spunk. Watching
you grow up, it’s always seemed like a do-over for your namesake. She would be
so proud of you and the loving and adventurous young lady, with an appreciation
for beauty, that you’ve become. I am so thankful that you have grown up to
bestow the honor on your namesake that I intended. While I never met Mom’s
grandmother, Bertha Elizabeth, from whom you take your first name, I’ve heard
enough stories about her loving and caring soul and devotion to family to know
that you’ve honored her has well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Matthew, welcome
to the family. I hope I’ve already given you some sense of how thrilled I am to
have you as my son-in-law. They say that girls grow up to pick a husband that
reminds them of their daddy. Imagine my delight that Ellie thinks I’m a tall,
thin, handsome, conservative, sports fan with a full head of hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have no secrets
for the two of you as you start your married life together. All the advice is
out of the bag, on the Internet, broadcast by Dr. Phil, and in print for
inquiring minds. Love and respect one another. Understand that you are each
unique and nurture the personalities in one another that attracted you to your
mate in the first place. You respect one another enough to commit to spending
the rest of your lives together. Build on that respect and lean on one another
when challenges arise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of you
can be expected to behave in perfect lockstep with the ideal imagined by the
other. That’s okay. NEITHER of you will behave ideally all the time. Cut some slack
to be given slack.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Your parents have more
than 70 years of marriage between them. We’ll tell you that it’s not all
horse-drawn carriages and 30-year-old Scotch. And we’ll tell you not to drive
one after drinking the other. But, personally, I can tell you that there is no
greater joy in life than being in a relationship where the goal of your
partner’s complete happiness serves as your guide. It requires sacrifice on
both your parts, honoring the commitment implicit in your vows. Sometimes you
have to muck a few stalls. Every morning. But the payoff is priceless. Being
part of your loved one’s dream come true is as good as it gets, better than a
10% ROI or a new necklace from Tiffany’s. Work on it and enjoy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Finally, this
wasn’t so bad. So, if in about 15 years I’m still around, I’m willing to give a
speech at a bar or bat mitzvah celebration, probably after dictating it into my
iPad 17.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ladies and
Gentlemen, friends and family. Let’s raise our glasses in a toast to the
newlyweds: Elizabeth Pearl was a gift from God and I will always be grateful to
have been given the honor of being her father. May God continue to bless her
and Matthew, God’s gift to Renée and Ed, and grant them safety, love, health and
happiness all the days of their lives. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">L’Chaim!</i></div>
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-29023617163097508182014-05-25T16:48:00.002-05:002014-05-25T19:30:38.661-05:00Before the Second Amendment, There's the First. Use It.<span style="font-size: large;">This afternoon I came across a post by Michael Moore, the documentary film-maker who is either a god or Satan incarnate depending on your politics. Apparently, Mr. Moore was asked to comment on the senseless tragedy that unfolded near the University of Santa Barbara a few days ago. A disturbed young white male from an upper middle class background used guns and knives to murder six people before taking his own life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here is what Michael Moore had to say in the form of a Facebook status that I decided to share on my Facebook page out of a common sense of rage and frustration:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #898f9c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">With due respect to those who are asking me to comment on last night's tragic mass shooting at UCSB in Isla Vista, CA -- I no longer have anything to say about what is now part of normal American life. Everything I have to say about this, I said it 12 years ago: We are a people easily manipulated by fear which causes us to arm ourselves with a quarter BILLION guns in our homes that are often easil</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #898f9c; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">y accessible to young people, burglars, the mentally ill and anyone who momentarily snaps. We are a nation founded in violence, grew our borders through violence, and allow men in power to use violence around the world to further our so-called American (corporate) "interests." The gun, not the eagle, is our true national symbol. While other countries have more violent pasts (Germany, Japan), more guns per capita in their homes (Canada [mostly hunting guns]), and the kids in most other countries watch the same violent movies and play the same violent video games that our kids play, no one even comes close to killing as many of its own citizens on a daily basis as we do -- and yet we don't seem to want to ask ourselves this simple question: "Why us? What is it about US?" Nearly all of our mass shootings are by angry or disturbed white males. None of them are committed by the majority gender, women. Hmmm, why is that? Even when 90% of the American public calls for stronger gun laws, Congress refuses -- and then we the people refuse to remove them from office. So the onus is on us, all of us. We won't pass the necessary laws, but more importantly we won't consider why this happens here all the time. When the NRA says, "Guns don't kill people -- people kill people," they've got it half-right. Except I would amend it to this: "Guns don't kill people -- Americans kill people." Enjoy the rest of your day, and rest assured this will all happen again very soon.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Shortly after my post, I received an email from a good friend whose opinion I greatly respect. Unlike some of the folks I expect to hear from after I post this blog, my friend is a thoughtful and intelligent and well-regarded by me and our mutual colleagues. Here is the email received in response to my sharing of Michael Moore's post:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
<b>Sam,</b></div>
<div class="p1">
<b>A few thoughts......</b></div>
<div class="p1">
<b>First - know that I am truly saddened by the event at UC Santa Barbara - it was and it is truly horrific....</b></div>
<div class="p1">
<b>Second - I'm a bit surprised that you would share Michael Moore's post - it easily leads one to believe that all of this tragedy was done with the use of a gun when 3 of those killed were killed with a knife - could it be that mentioning that a knife was used for 3 of the killings would take away most / all of the credibility for the rest of his statement? Seems to me that providing half truths to support a position is not worthy a repost....</b></div>
<div class="p1">
<b>Third - although he doesn't want to write it, it seems what Mr Moore is saying is that we have individuals with mental health issues that need to be addressed, yet he somehow draws the conclusion that if we take away guns all will be good (except maybe for those 3 housemates who were killed with a knife....). He apparently isn't aware of root cause analysis.</b></div>
<div class="p1">
<b>Fourth - might you still be one of the folks who has a gun in their house that is easily accessible to those who shouldn't have access to it? (I hope not, if so, we need to talk....)</b></div>
<div class="p2">
<b></b><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<b>I enjoy reading your posts & blogs - this one just didn't feel right...</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm posting these because I shot off a response that I wanted to share. It feels right to me and I believe that it's incumbent on those of us who share Michael Moore's frustration, including me, to speak out. We may never achieve any success, but I want to be able to look myself in the mirror and know that I made some effort.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here is my response to my friend's comments:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Thanks, J.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Actually, I took Moore's condemnation to be more of a general venting of frustration 12 years after he came out with Bowling for Columbine because nothing has changed. He wasn't focused on this individual tragedy, which is why he starts out by saying he's done talking. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="p1">
<i>No matter what we do, there will continue to be murders and assaults using knives, cars, poison, abuse and guns. I'm not willing to give up addressing the problem of the proliferation of firearms because of an inability to achieve a perfect solution and harmonious society.</i></div>
<div class="p2">
<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I was just thinking about something the other day, before the latest tragedy. When I worked in D.C., I was dating an aide to a Senator from Nebraska. She was active in the anti-gun lobby because her brother had been killed by someone with a handgun. She talked about the statistics, variations on Moore's cites from a 1977 perspective. She acknowledged the challenges in dealing with the NRA because of its constant warning about the government taking away guns and stomping on Second Amendment rights. That's what struck me. Ever since Robert Kennedy's assassination, I can remember hearing about the government wanting to take away everyone's guns. And it works up the pro-gun crowd time and time again. However, since 1968, there's never been a serious attempt by anyone in elected office to confiscate guns. While there was an assault weapons ban in place for awhile, it was pretty limited and allowed to expire. Handguns, shotguns, hunting rifles have never been subject to any confiscatory legislation. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>So, if the government isn't taking anything away, what's wrong with some regulations that take a step in assuring a more safe use. Again, it won't be a perfect solution, but how many lives does it have to save to justify implementation? One, a hundred, a thousand, my grandson, your daughter?</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Read "Glock", the history of the manufacturer. Fascinating story about the success of the gun, its rise to prominence among law enforcement worldwide, the marketing that was used to achieve that result and the financial pressures exerted on and by the gun lobby to make sure that nothing changes in Americans' access to guns. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I'm ignoring the Fourth point. I'm still bad ALTHOUGH it's not loaded or near ammunition, it's hidden away, it's out of reach for anyone too young to get to it and I really intend to get a trigger lock for it.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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</div>
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<i>Thanks again.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you feel passionately about the issue, don't tell me. Tell your Congressman and Senator. There's nothing more that I can do besides what I'm already doing. People that agree with me and Michael Moore have to make themselves heard directly, not merely as poll respondents. People who don't agree with me are entitled to their opinion. All I ask is that they take the time to have an informed opinion, not one based on scare tactics and imaginary government conspiracies that have been erroneously prophesied for more than 50 years.</span></div>
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-56821763534425174332014-05-16T01:18:00.000-05:002014-05-16T08:43:37.318-05:00Dear Grandson (Part 2)<span style="font-size: large;">Dearest Beloved Grandson, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am writing this while awaiting word of your arrival from your parents. After waiting at home all day and timing contractions, your father sent me a text at 4:32 p.m. confirming that they were with you at St. Joseph's Hospital in St. Paul. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am at my office and I have work to do but I am having a hard time concentrating on anything but the desktop on my iPhone. I am trying to will it to light up with a phone call or text from your father, telling me that you and your mother are healthy and, finally, sharing your name with me and my 1,300 Facebook friends. I thought if I shot something off to you, it would make time pass.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You should know that this world is full of strange coincidences. Your parents told Grandma and me eight months ago to the day that you were expected. So, for eight months, I had been meaning to share some advice with your father. I kept forgetting, even though we believed that you would join us last week.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This morning, at 9:26 a.m., I sent your father the following text:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Time for me to tell you what someone told me before you were born. It doesn't matter how much you've read or how much you have discussed the birth of your child. You have never felt anything like the way you are going to feel when your son is born. Enjoy the experience and each and every moment that follows thereafter. Don't wish away any part of his growing up. It passes all too soon."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thirty-seven minutes later, your father called me to tell me that your mother had gone into labor. While I realize that the going away festivities started for you last night, it struck me that you waited until I gave your father a last piece of guidance before you felt he was ready to say "hello".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for having so much confidence in me. I will try to be a wonderful Papa for you. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I will teach you patience and respect for the wishes of others. I will start by not posting this letter until given permission by your parents as it will, in effect, serve as a birth announcement for the dozens of friends who will want to be called Uncle or Aunt. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I will be honest with you. In eight days, we will celebrate at your <i>bris. </i>I'm not going to lie; it's going to hurt. You won't walk for a year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Lastly, for now, I will not spare you from stupid jokes. See above.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">With all my love and tear-filled eyes,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Papa</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUWeSYjb-e3JRcetZcUJUukXoVCRbvw5_pzLQK0lxoZvwtaeuN00G8pjYNPwHxYhmKs4pMLsp3idWgLVq7fC9OQFkGdFpkn9YRm7fQ0aXQmPwSdhFrSX9FazERwqRLn0uq41iQbOzlyZ9/s1600/PAS+MBS+BIS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUWeSYjb-e3JRcetZcUJUukXoVCRbvw5_pzLQK0lxoZvwtaeuN00G8pjYNPwHxYhmKs4pMLsp3idWgLVq7fC9OQFkGdFpkn9YRm7fQ0aXQmPwSdhFrSX9FazERwqRLn0uq41iQbOzlyZ9/s1600/PAS+MBS+BIS.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Molly, Teddy and Phillip<br />May 4, 2014</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-88032960192926358262014-03-22T00:13:00.001-05:002014-03-22T09:10:01.254-05:00Dear Grandson (Part 1)<span style="font-size: large;">Dearest Beloved Grandson,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Although you are still <i>in utero, </i>I thought it might be a good time to start sharing life lessons for you to use as guidance in the years to come. A few months ago, your mother urged me to recommence writing <i>Prairie Pondering</i> after I mentioned that a friend, Charlie Leck, blogged regularly for several years in order to give his grandchildren a sense of who he was. Neither Charlie nor I will be around forever and we are using this vehicle to try to leave a legacy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lesson 1. Read.</b> Learn to read. Love to read. I'm going to be up past my bedtime writing this tonight. If you are going to ignore Lesson 1, there's no point in my bothering. Your Papa (me) started reading voraciously at a very young age. As a result, I was able to travel through time and space from the comfort of my home. My vocabulary developed without having to resort to flashcards. My imagination flourished and I developed a moral compass from the stories I devoured rather than from sustaining a lot of negative reinforcement after blindly straying.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As a side benefit, if we think you're precocious, we'll give you extra attention. I spent hours playing Scrabble with your great-grandmother Pearl from the age of 8 or so on. I'll never forget the joy she expressed when I was able to beat her. I look forward to experiencing the same joy sitting across the table from you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You may be thinking that these benefits are too deferred. After all, I had to pore through some World Books, the Wikipedia of my day, to develop that vocabulary. Here's a more immediate benefit. We'll leave you alone while you're reading and exercising your mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Beginning at 7 or 8 years old, I spent several weeks every summer with your great-grandmother Pearl and her husband, my Papa. My Papa was also an attorney. The brass lion on my desk I'll show you someday is from his office in Chicago. He would take me to his office on LaSalle Street in the Loop to spend the day. After awhile I would get bored in the office and would go on walks in downtown Chicago. I would count blocks from to Papa's office building so I could find my way back. I explored book stores. I would find a paperback of interest, return to the office and read. (Things have changed a bit so we probably won't let you wander around downtown Chicago by yourself when you're 8.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of the paperbacks I bought during one Chicago adventure was a series of short stories by Ian Fleming. It was called <i>The Spy Who Loved Me. </i>It told the story of a British secret agent, Bond. James Bond. Since this was two years before the first James Bond movie was released, neither my parents nor grandparents had any idea what I was reading. I have vivid memories of sitting in Chernins on Roosevelt Road while the family was buying shoes. I was engrossed in a James Bond novel, reading about women, cars, guns, the concept of tailoring slacks to allow for packing on one side or another, cocktails and spycraft. I overheard my mother commenting on what a good kid I was and how much I loved to read. I remember thinking, "if she only knew". They thought I was precocious and they left me alone. My choice of books was giving me immediate gratification without the tedium of flashcards. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">By the time <i>Dr. No </i>was released in 1962, when I was 10, I had read all of Fleming's James Bond novels. I knew of the sparkling bays of Jamaica and the volcanoes of Japan. I had skied in the Alps and swum the coral reefs in the Caribbean. I developed an understanding of dialects on the streets of Harlem (as heard and conveyed by a mid-20th century British novelist) and explored the tunnels underneath Istanbul. I began to understand the importance of friendship and sacrifice and honor. Reading primed my curiosity pump and prepared me to want to explore the world. Follow Lesson 1 and you're in for a lifetime of wonder.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In case you're concerned, you won't need to go to Chicago to recreate my experience. I've been rereading the Fleming novels, downloading them one at a time chronologically onto my iPad. In a couple of years, when Mom and Dad take a night off and you're with Papa, I'll read them to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lesson 2. Read the Torah. </b>Your Papa was smart enough not to rely solely on Ian Fleming to teach him right from wrong. As part of my Bar Mitzvah training, I was required to read the Five Books of Moses and give a report on each chapter to my rabbi. The exercise paid dividends in its lessons about faith, ethics, being good, being bad, consequences, perseverance, rituals and self-reliance. You will learn that you control your own fate; no one died for your sins.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't ignore the subtle lessons as you develop your mind reading the Torah. It's not all burning bushes, escapes from Egypt and fights with Caananites . The chapters detailing the census can be viewed either akin to watching paint dry or as a window on how life was lived thousands of years ago. Start to understand how societies formed and how everyone had something to contribute to make a whole. It's no different today and you ARE your brother's keeper.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you behave yourself and treat people with respect, you will be thought of as a mensch and will live a happier life. There are lots of rules to live by. Some you may choose to ignore and join me in San Francisco one day for Scoma's spicy cioppino on Fisherman's Wharf. Others, if you pay attention to the lessons of your forefathers, will guide you throughout life and make your Papa proud.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lesson 3. Live Beneath Your Means. </b>This is the first of many "do as I say, not as I do" lessons. But you might as well learn from my mistakes. That is as much the point of this exercise as exhorting you to follow in my footsteps. <i>cf. </i>Lessons 1 and 2. You need to be smarter than the marketing wonks who devise increasingly clever schemes to convince you to buy what they're selling. Remember the lesson of my favorite Garfield cartoon:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWF3fvmBAXly0JK4eS52TxyNpUmaywpfe67jAYcZMYKKUqzxb3ka_HuAwyzArO_VkRVHWTi_ou1aairYo4ebuTyEGNF3B0l0dJG8KaMmFMu1cqqtuO1Fh98CS1S1kSxJQPVKJ20uTm8YK/s1600/Garfield231188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWF3fvmBAXly0JK4eS52TxyNpUmaywpfe67jAYcZMYKKUqzxb3ka_HuAwyzArO_VkRVHWTi_ou1aairYo4ebuTyEGNF3B0l0dJG8KaMmFMu1cqqtuO1Fh98CS1S1kSxJQPVKJ20uTm8YK/s1600/Garfield231188.jpg" height="120" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Put money aside on a regular basis and forget about it. Just decide to live on 95% of what you're taking in and you won't miss the funds as you save them. The independence and peace of mind you'll enjoy from not having to worry about not being in extraordinary debt is priceless. Your parents are good role models in this regard. Follow their lead and avoid pursuing shiny objects. To the best of my ability, I'll take care of your shiny objects.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lesson 4. Google. </b>As I thought about writing this, Lesson 4 was not anything I dwelled much on. But being able to illustrate Lesson 3 made me realize how important it is to know how to research and expand your knowledge base. The cartoon is one I regularly refer to in conversation. As I was writing, it occurred to me that I might be able to track it down. I typed "Garfield comic amazing what some people would rather have than money" and the exact 25 year-old comic strip I remembered appeared in a fraction of a second. Be curious; seek answers. And remember, if Google returns 35 million relevant hits in response to an inquiry, best to dig deeper to fully comprehend the matter at hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lesson 5. Treat Everyone with Respect. </b>When you were born, you shared the world with slightly more than 7 billion people. Initially, they all had moms; most had dads. Many had their own Papas and Grandmas. Each of them arrived to universal prayer, joy, hope and expectation of the best life possible. It makes absolutely no difference what color their skin is, who they choose to love or whether they can pee standing up without soiling their pants. (Actually, I'm getting to the age where that's not so much of a distinction.) You are incredibly lucky to have been born into a loving family able to provide shelter and food in abundance and to assure your education and preparation for life's challenges. "Lucky" is the operative word in that sentence and you do not have, and will never have, the right to judge as inferior anyone merely because they started out in different circumstances than you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You need to educate yourself and live your life in a way that you can be confident and proud of your beliefs and intellect. <i>cf. </i>Lessons 1 and 2. Once you do, there's no need to agree with everyone or anyone else. But remember to be respectful to those you disagree with. Either they have come to disagree with you after their own thoughtful process, or they are to be pitied for not having availed themselves of the opportunity to be informed. Either way you'll often have to deal with them and understanding how to do so, and acting on it, will make life a lot easier.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lesson 6. Don't be a Chump. </b>Notwithstanding Lesson 5, you are going to meet a lot of people who, in addition to being pitied, are to be avoided. Not everyone is respectful of the rights of others; not everyone acts in a moral and ethical manner. Your Papa gives people the opportunity to behave in an appropriate fashion. But I don't eat apples or associate with people with rotten cores. As you grow older, you'll develop a sense of which fights to pick and which to avoid. It's okay to associate with the putz who eats his fish with his salad fork. It's not okay to maintain a relationship with the thief who pockets the fork. Ignoring rotten core behavior just sets you up to be a victim when convenient for the bad actor. Ignoring the warning signs until victimized makes you a chump.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Kunta Kinte (ask your mom), I have many more lessons to impart. We will discuss the significance of the Rat Pack, splitting aces and eights, friendship, family and Broadway musicals. When I'm done, you will not eat corned beef on white bread nor bet on the Vikings. We aren't scheduled to meet for another six weeks or so. I'll keep generating these missives for you between now and then and, likely, thereafter. Papa has to go to sleep so he can get up and muck horse stalls, the result of a mid-life paradigm shift undertaken to assure your grandmother's happiness. That's Lesson 10. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Later, Squirt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-74392731343405310042014-03-12T00:52:00.000-05:002014-03-12T17:28:54.659-05:00Flying Into Los Angeleez<span style="font-size: large;">In a few days I'll be eligible for Social Security. I won't file for it. My retirement plan consists of passing away and supporting Deb with my life insurance proceeds. There's a major flaw in the plan, which is why I'm bound and determined to enjoy myself as much as possible for as long as possible while continuing to get paid for my advice.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The last few weeks have underscored how capable I am of enjoying myself. On Saturday evening, I returned from a week in Los Angeles. Typically, I have only a weekend to spend and have to severely limit my visits to friends and family. Even a 5-day week was insufficient to do everything I wanted, especially since I was attending a conference for 2-1/2 days, but:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I was able to join my roommates from my senior year in college for <b>dinner</b> in Long Beach;</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I attended a gala benefiting the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum honoring Sir Ben Kingsley;</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I <b>ate</b> at chi SPACCA, a Hollywood hotspot, at the insistence of a Minneapolis friend who took my phone to make an Open Table reservation 10 days in advance;</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I enjoyed Shabbat <b>dinner</b> with Bruce and Marilyn Mandel's family, marveling at Marilyn's 96 year old mother's apparent rejuvenation since being bed-ridden during my last visit in December;</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I spent hours on Friday afternoon walking the beach at Malibu and photographing surfers;</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIjQEY9KC2Xdp7d4M_U5Ge4k0rsybBWiOvKMsmxCmKR-uxj90Rdl0etc2qoUK-zQiGFszfdgv0oIfmwwUTHOkUFZJccHEpGumeub4R8BH7OUei1KzAc6W04wLx9ktUMptkQQKF75kWGjo/s1600/LAX_1403_124+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIjQEY9KC2Xdp7d4M_U5Ge4k0rsybBWiOvKMsmxCmKR-uxj90Rdl0etc2qoUK-zQiGFszfdgv0oIfmwwUTHOkUFZJccHEpGumeub4R8BH7OUei1KzAc6W04wLx9ktUMptkQQKF75kWGjo/s1600/LAX_1403_124+-+Version+2.jpg" height="400" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I grabbed <b>lunch</b> in Manhattan Beach with an old friend from my days representing Minneapolis' Rogue Bar;</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">I drove a Tesla down Sunset Boulevard and up Mandeville Canyon (I want a Tesla); and</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">I spent a lot of quality time with my blood-brother, Bruce Mandel, who also turns 62 on my birthday and who has been an integral part of my life since we met at age 3.</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am not writing to draw unnecessary attention to my love of food. I did that with all the photographic evidence posted on Facebook. This is another observation about the importance of relationships and of making the most out of life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let me elaborate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In 1973, I transferred to UCLA. Bruce, who rarely takes "no" for an answer, persuaded the school to admit me as a senior. After driving my Datsun 610 across the country, so loaded down the wheels buckled, I answered an ad in the school newspaper and found living quarters in West L.A. with Donald Johnson and Franz Miller, third year law students. We had a magical year, sharing a balcony with Peter Strauss immediately before his <i>Rich Man, Poor Man</i> role made him famous. We frequented greasy spoons and Annie's Doughnuts <u>after</u> Johnny Carson signed off. We all </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrI8GL9BvRzhGooFixWqPWu9yvK_Maz2WUBQXeRfzezViQs4abRdRcxea9xFRmqYiIRbmq5ZF-wK3qcFO6a9wVhoF1SsC7fuQi_IgZRTbnNU6H5zap-2Sxp_5r2KIQU4z85r6o1YtUsgE/s1600/LAX_1403_049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrI8GL9BvRzhGooFixWqPWu9yvK_Maz2WUBQXeRfzezViQs4abRdRcxea9xFRmqYiIRbmq5ZF-wK3qcFO6a9wVhoF1SsC7fuQi_IgZRTbnNU6H5zap-2Sxp_5r2KIQU4z85r6o1YtUsgE/s1600/LAX_1403_049.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Donald Johnson & Hon. Franz Mille</span>r</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">shot <span style="text-align: center;">pilots for Jack Barry quiz shows and I spent three days as a contestant on </span><i style="text-align: center;">The Joker's Wild. </i><span style="text-align: center;">We spent weekends in Palm Springs at my grandparents' home, flying across the desert in Franz' TR-6 convertible. We graduated but stayed connected. In Long Beach last week, we realized it had been 40 years since we left the apartment on Armacost. Donald is a retired prosecutor; Franz is a judge in Orange County. I'm honored and appreciative to have been allowed to share their lives 40 years ago and more than a little touched that, 40 years later, they would both drive for hours to meet to reminisce.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Attending the benefit for the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum at the table Bruce purchased was like a homecoming. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qPxiGdqopW_bH033KDEdjh9wjfmTCEA5unVHxFOEcsJt82kpdzt7TDN_23VnuFgoSr5vBmjgkXUAnqV1pGqpD3BuY3p-roE8agszEAND57CzKyUYzNiU4zgEI_l2y6tW4bLZqN3Dj4ub/s1600/LAX_1403_041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3qPxiGdqopW_bH033KDEdjh9wjfmTCEA5unVHxFOEcsJt82kpdzt7TDN_23VnuFgoSr5vBmjgkXUAnqV1pGqpD3BuY3p-roE8agszEAND57CzKyUYzNiU4zgEI_l2y6tW4bLZqN3Dj4ub/s1600/LAX_1403_041.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sir Ben Kingsley contemplating the six</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">candles lit in memory of the 6 million Jews</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">who perished in the Holocaust</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In 1978, while working as Legislative Counsel to U.S. Senator Wendell R. Anderson, I was tasked with developing and introducing legislation to establish a national Holocaust memorial in Washington, D.C. I pursued the project passionately in honor of Bruce's parents, both survivors of Nazi concentration camps. Bruce's mom, Ella, is like a mother to me, especially since my mother died when I was 18. One day, I received a call from the White House, asking that I withdraw my legislation because President Carter wished to pursue the establishment of the memorial museum as an accomplishment of his administration. I acquiesced, a street-smart 26 year-old who already understood there was but one response to a Presidential request. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but feel some pride as I watched survivors and supporters and Hollywood elite gather to celebrate the incredible success of the Museum and the important role it plays in preserving the lessons of the Holocaust.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The meal at chi SPACCA was a three hour experience that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Bruce and I sampled many of the cured meats the restaurant is famous for.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dmbdrfZ4dz9SF57X667bCd4Ln1HCsEG4wIE1rzSojOlToIBkdSqQ3Y8Vqjg4onM-HzcSz2vMFDJXL0T1KSELIwz-2DSnebzBdhsIlCQyhZSFSvAzPZ6FR3aktXTjxU9fELewver4H5eI/s1600/LAX_1403_047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dmbdrfZ4dz9SF57X667bCd4Ln1HCsEG4wIE1rzSojOlToIBkdSqQ3Y8Vqjg4onM-HzcSz2vMFDJXL0T1KSELIwz-2DSnebzBdhsIlCQyhZSFSvAzPZ6FR3aktXTjxU9fELewver4H5eI/s1600/LAX_1403_047.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">We shared wonderfully spicy calamari and mouth-watering short ribs. It was our first night together and we caught up on one another's life as brothers do. As we left the restaurant to walk to our car a block away, we noticed a group of men standing outside Mozza, the restaurant connected to chi SPACCA. Bruce thought they were part of a convention, uncharacteristically dressed up on the corner of Melrose and Highland. For me, the street-smarts kicked in. Taking in the scene - everyone dressed alike, short hair, lapel mikes, positioned along the sidewalk, black SUVs parked in front of the restaurant - I immediately had them pegged as a security detail. When, as we walked by we heard them speaking Hebrew, it was confirmed. Later we learned Prime Minister Netanyahu was in town and my guess is he was dining at Mozza. Welcome to L.A.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I visited L.A. for a weekend last December to pay condolences to Bruce and Ella on the November passing of Stefan Mandel, father and husband, I made it a point to visit Marilyn's parents, the Pilbergs, at their winter apartment near Beverly Hills. Mrs. Pilberg was being attended to around the clock by Marilyn and her sisters and did not emerge from the bedroom. She is struggling with a cancer diagnosis and it was important to me to pay my respects to her and to her husband as I've known them for nearly 30 years. I was shocked, happily so, when we had dinner on Friday night.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pmtWOHA9DS-KTYIkpiRnjZU4R_L0E3STytTrEGvYCCjilSMeSglOfM1oKfJQgoVDFku-67i8KyU1hh_PbapVSQHU39f-bllbbPWjxXKLaiBXFLIadgqXG4E2fdTALckYKpnFxLTfgXcx/s1600/LAX_1403_183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pmtWOHA9DS-KTYIkpiRnjZU4R_L0E3STytTrEGvYCCjilSMeSglOfM1oKfJQgoVDFku-67i8KyU1hh_PbapVSQHU39f-bllbbPWjxXKLaiBXFLIadgqXG4E2fdTALckYKpnFxLTfgXcx/s1600/LAX_1403_183.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Besides being touched by the beautiful Sabbath table set as part of a weekly ritual, and its corresponding emotional and spiritual connection to my Jewish heritage, I was amazed at the improvement in Mrs. Pilberg's condition and attitude. She lovingly recalled Deb and my visit to Los Angeles 27 years ago with my four year old son in tow. She could not believe that Phillip is nearly 31 and about to become a father. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWdsnJkaZxBOQGayd-mYTLbFL01Xlm6o7oaKLQgvQz2DXBkh-zVVuUC-z0t2Uo42zyw8QUtcr1olhQp9KkoLrEHmdH3TqbF4XNIRkd4A_jh4FXDN0CyL3CR8PXeHdRSBWPKRidqjq_9T6/s1600/LAX_1403_194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWdsnJkaZxBOQGayd-mYTLbFL01Xlm6o7oaKLQgvQz2DXBkh-zVVuUC-z0t2Uo42zyw8QUtcr1olhQp9KkoLrEHmdH3TqbF4XNIRkd4A_jh4FXDN0CyL3CR8PXeHdRSBWPKRidqjq_9T6/s1600/LAX_1403_194.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1A6p5tpwe-Dhc3YWZHhVTiqNtPxp2ggxyxysLNOE-xJzaeOkJmW46oRjarHLpPRpeaOTc80wwD7M0vsMvP58iUOokEaYBIpXg6U5uU6entOVLxhNAISyX_gdZk_DilrIW2Gb1Am2FTd9Z/s1600/LAX_1403_195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1A6p5tpwe-Dhc3YWZHhVTiqNtPxp2ggxyxysLNOE-xJzaeOkJmW46oRjarHLpPRpeaOTc80wwD7M0vsMvP58iUOokEaYBIpXg6U5uU6entOVLxhNAISyX_gdZk_DilrIW2Gb1Am2FTd9Z/s1600/LAX_1403_195.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr. and Mrs. Pilberg rejoiced in the presence of Alyssa, Bruce and Marilyn's daughter, and clearly consider the mutual love and respect shared with their granddaughter as one of life's great blessings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friday's time on the beach generated a wide variety of memories and contemplation. When I lived in L.A., if I was feeling down, I'd drive to the water in the evening and sit on the sand watching the waves pound the shore, mesmerized by the phosphorescent displays that never ended. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86FnXeA4UVb1O3lIV4ixo1iwNZI1SKK6J9l9-Y1SlulEFjBPmmB1Op580oij5uyniC1SGr1OFyH7L8MDC7gZxk3SB6XyHwWxzFYHw6obMqoAKKWbKxTmwnQcjis3HMhzXPCb0NVOdHYcV/s1600/LAX_1403_108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86FnXeA4UVb1O3lIV4ixo1iwNZI1SKK6J9l9-Y1SlulEFjBPmmB1Op580oij5uyniC1SGr1OFyH7L8MDC7gZxk3SB6XyHwWxzFYHw6obMqoAKKWbKxTmwnQcjis3HMhzXPCb0NVOdHYcV/s1600/LAX_1403_108.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I recall visits after I'd graduated from UCLA in which Bruce's father would love spending hours just lying on a blanket soaking in the sun on a Saturday afternoon. And I'm always amazed at my great fortune at having had the opportunities to travel so widely when I meet someone who has never seen the ocean. All of that was going through my head on Friday as Bruce, in the footsteps of his father, took the time to decompress and enjoy the simple pleasures of walking along the beach. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PWxDgmWWp0hQ7Zh4Yv-NYr-ky7CYhIKO_K6FXP-fz0cIrEQnuQNK-Wvnl8o39tpCqcPIV-V3MULlZJRYqdgbSTejSNa1RaSj1OJ6UEy40EekXbN1tfUw1xxPtREL72yih6ei7RbQUw2J/s1600/LAX_1403_084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PWxDgmWWp0hQ7Zh4Yv-NYr-ky7CYhIKO_K6FXP-fz0cIrEQnuQNK-Wvnl8o39tpCqcPIV-V3MULlZJRYqdgbSTejSNa1RaSj1OJ6UEy40EekXbN1tfUw1xxPtREL72yih6ei7RbQUw2J/s1600/LAX_1403_084.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Not atypically, I had a camera with me. Rather than one of my larger DSLR's, I limited my camera gear this trip to a relatively inexpensive Nikon point & shoot, albeit one that allowed creative interaction. I challenged myself to capture images worthy of sharing to see if I could do so without the use of my fancier equipment. I think I succeeded and earned accolades from my blood-brother, who marveled at the results.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3bcnwsuyHH8FESqq0AGffUm0iQWoWCEX3HohnsCEYM5GH4o7j32Ho79OVOmDVYxqhLSlxmSjrQAo8thEqxYZuksyuPCKGMUVjPD_X3zTUYwQ-PYeCWYNwbMADuK-RHDe_7m4BEFf_szh/s1600/LAX_1403_069+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3bcnwsuyHH8FESqq0AGffUm0iQWoWCEX3HohnsCEYM5GH4o7j32Ho79OVOmDVYxqhLSlxmSjrQAo8thEqxYZuksyuPCKGMUVjPD_X3zTUYwQ-PYeCWYNwbMADuK-RHDe_7m4BEFf_szh/s1600/LAX_1403_069+-+Version+2.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lunch with Dante Gaudio was an unexpected treat. Thanks to Facebook, I became aware that he was also scheduled to be in L.A. last week. I reached out and we were able to find time and space to catch up before I drove him to the airport for his trip home to Connecticut. When we were last together, I was representing the Rogue, Minneapolis' hottest nightclub, restaurant and bar. Dante had been a bouncer and, at the end, was managing the business with as much skill as anyone I'd worked with. We faced incredible challenges together as the owner relapsed and eventually overdosed on cocaine. My first and only intervention was experienced with Dante and, if there's another, I'm betting there won't be a shotgun involved as necessary protection. Dante and I had a pact. If I ever won the Powerball, he'd be my first hire, serving as my Kato or the guy on Valentine's Day (to my Anthony Franciosa). Eighteen years later, Dante is an executive with a successful electronic publishing company serving the medical community, has four beautiful children and, truth be told, I'll probably end up driving for him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Los Angeles is a car-lover's paradise. The weather lends itself to enjoying beautiful machinery without concern for snow, ice, salted roadways or lengthy impediments to lowering your convertible's top. I gawk at the abundance of SL's, Aston Martins, Bentleys, Ferraris and Porsches. But since December, when Bruce acquired his Tesla, I feel pity for the owners of these masterpieces. They are doomed to tether to the gas station. Driving by a gas station in the all-electric Tesla fills me with the same sense of sadness that strikes me driving by a building downtown and seeing smokers congregating outside the doorways. If only both sets of poor souls could break free from the needless clutches of gasoline and nicotine, respectively. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9CmK28gU8qD3euPa8teNV9I8DWg0V4XWX4zrCjJpLbxW6aPt01vkbcSRDcR09-yD5KcROaOtvhywRXPYgxSZQWQJXa4ggYpW6ofr0KjhhM8vDCybIXuhyphenhyphenXuBjJesffgOGj4S8N78TR0Q/s1600/LAX_1403_051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9CmK28gU8qD3euPa8teNV9I8DWg0V4XWX4zrCjJpLbxW6aPt01vkbcSRDcR09-yD5KcROaOtvhywRXPYgxSZQWQJXa4ggYpW6ofr0KjhhM8vDCybIXuhyphenhyphenXuBjJesffgOGj4S8N78TR0Q/s1600/LAX_1403_051.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">While in the Tesla, you immediately appreciate the all-encompassing superiority of the driving experience when compared to more traditional gas burners. As I pulled away from the curb after dinner on Friday, I felt like I was maneuvering a very large electric golf cart. There was no noise and no sense of shifting. However, once I pressed on the accelerator, I recognized it was unlike any golf cart I'd ever driven. In fact, I told Bruce that I had not had that much fun driving since my monthly trips to L.A in the mid-80's to tool around in a friend's Ferrari Testarossa for the weekend. Bruce's car seemed faster and more agile. In the mid-80's I was in my 30's. Last week, I was not and I ignored Bruce's encouragement to drive more aggressively, forcing him to take the rare "no" for an answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not going to elaborate any more on my quality time with Bruce, except to share his wife's observation: "I've never seen </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRFW487YInABp7Tn0lDxmuydQg54fDcqb0ti4zx_jAbW_SPyU-ZsxL1pF7rtzwkVbbpKXcxbOkSeM1vUoMAMZhlLusmOBNkJ-ljy-sf_X1_j9CV6P7nBdxvhrL4bgbzw_VdWd1vBh655u/s1600/LAX_1403_028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRFW487YInABp7Tn0lDxmuydQg54fDcqb0ti4zx_jAbW_SPyU-ZsxL1pF7rtzwkVbbpKXcxbOkSeM1vUoMAMZhlLusmOBNkJ-ljy-sf_X1_j9CV6P7nBdxvhrL4bgbzw_VdWd1vBh655u/s1600/LAX_1403_028.jpg" height="400" width="285" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bruce happier than he is when he's with you." Given the 59 years of love I have for my blood-brother, a relationship created by our fathers in about 1956 by pricking our fingers and mixing our blood, Marilyn's observation fills me with incredible joy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I know my respect for relationships is a recurring theme in my writing. But the gratification realized from enjoying the fruits of inter-personal development nurtured over the years bears regular acknowledgment. Writing about the breadth of my experiences and friendships gives me the opportunity to pause and appreciate what a lucky S.O.B. I am while generating dividends of wonderful memories and thankfulness for other's acceptance and even respect. Happy Birthday to me (and Bruce).</span><br />
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-47690990380091614542014-02-24T00:37:00.001-06:002014-02-24T00:37:36.670-06:00My Reading Buddy<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://chasblogs.blogspot.com/2014/02/if-i-were-young-man.html" target="_blank">Charlie Leck made a point last week</a> about our collective lack of outrage over the widening achievement gap between white students and students of color. In the process, he referred to efforts I make to even the playing field, one student at a time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It took me a few days to sit down and write this because the attention embarrassed me. I have a very public persona when it comes to some things but I like to keep it low key when giving of myself to those in need. I subscribe to the wisdom of the Jewish rabbi and philosopher Maimonides whose 8 Levels of Giving opined that anonymous charitable giving with no expectation of recognition is among the most commendable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nonetheless, Charlie threw down a gauntlet and I think it requires both public acknowledgment and advocacy on my part. A good basic education is the building block to everything else in life. If we turn our backs on whatever shortcomings exist in our educational system, we ("Royal 'we'") damn ourselves to creating a society in which more and more citizens cannot function independently and productively. The investment, now, in the education of our children, pays dividends for generations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's how I know that to be true. One of my few vivid memories as a kindergarden and elementary school student is the recurring lecture I received from my father about the need to complete my homework in order to get a good education. Dad likened my early education to the laying the foundation of a wall that I would rely on all through my life. Because "New Math" was using brick imagery to teach us about base-10 arithmetic, the lectures hit home and have stayed with me. My young mind accepted that, unless I made the effort to learn while young and build on that, I was going to go through life with a crumbling wall built on a weak foundation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the last four school years, I've been volunteering once a week during the school year to work with second graders to firm up their bricks. "Everybody Wins", a reading mentoring program formerly affiliated with the Hennepin County Bar Association, attracts about 80 attorneys, judges, clerks and court personnel each week to a school in North Minneapolis to help second grade students develop reading skills. The attorney who initially invited me to join the program explained that statistics show the need to develop reading proficiency by the end of second grade to avoid a subsequent lack of academic achievement and disaffection with the learning process. I haven't bothered to verify the studies. Based on four years of personal observation, the theory seems to make sense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Which brings me to Darnell. As noted by Charlie in his blog, I have developed a close relationship with Darnell since we were "reading buddies" four years ago. When I started volunteering about three weeks into the school year, I kept bouncing around among various students, covering for volunteers who were absent that week. In about the fourth week of my participation, I was paired with Darnell. He protested, saying he wanted to stay with another volunteer. Darnell's teacher told me that the other volunteer had begged off working with Darnell, deciding that he was too needy and troubled.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I remember how, when the protest was lost, Darnell still hustled me into getting out of reading by feigning a stomach ache. I took him to the school nurse and watched him squirm while trying to keep a straight face when explaining why he was there. The next week I returned to Darnell's classroom and sat down with him, explaining that I was his only choice. I asked for a chance. I might have bribed him with candy. I can't remember when that started. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Darnell read better than some of his peers, not as well as others. His biggest problem was a lack of interest. He read everything in a monotone and I would regularly reread passages aloud to him to show the importance of inflections in conveying the sense of story. It never seemed to matter and I felt like I was not making a lot of headway with my reluctant second-grader.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then something remarkable happened. We were reading a book about a boy whose mother died. The child was referred to as an "orphan". I told Darnell that I was learning something new because I thought both parents had to pass on before someone was an "orphan". We looked it up and found that the book's use of the term was accurate. The book gave us the opportunity to talk about death. Darnell's protests and his lack of interest were manifestations of the 7 year-old's inability to deal with the death of his mother 8 months earlier, when he was a first grader. It gave me the opportunity to tell Darnell how much we had in common. We both had mothers who were from Chicago who had died from cancer when they were young. We were both orphans. He could not believe that someone else shared his experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">From that moment on, we bonded. He looked forward to our Wednesday sessions (probably as much for the candy as anything). We would read and we would talk. He became more enthusiastic about learning and, by Spring, when I wrote a short story for him about the farm animals and Deb's horse Oliver, he was hooked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The reading program prohibits outside contact with the students, but I worked with the school and the aunt who was raising Darnell to get permission to maintain our relationship after the school year. I received a meaningful education in the difference volunteers make in the lives of the students when, a year after we met, out and about on one of our "Darnell Days", an elderly woman in a restaurant asked Darnell how he and I had met. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"We both had mothers from Chicago who died when they were young. We're both orphans."</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">His aunt, a saint, mixes love and discipline as she raises her sister's children with her own. Darnell has gone on to become an "Academic All Star". He gets A's and B's on his report cards. He is on the Student Council in Vadnais Heights Elementary, a great athlete, polite and funny. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last year, after he was grounded for participating in some minor shenanigans with his older cousins, we had a talk about making good choices. He knew that he had done wrong, but didn't know how to say "no" to his cousins. Referring to the WWJD bracelets that had become popular, I told him that in the future he should stop and ask himself "what would Sam do?" WWSD became our code. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This weekend, I asked him if he had needed to rely on WWSD. In fact, he had. Faced with a tough problem in math, he realized he could use the calculator on his phone to arrive at an answer. But he told me he asked himself "what would Sam do" and worked it out on paper instead.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Darnell's foundation is strong; his brick wall is getting higher and higher. He now wants to be a lawyer rather than a football player when he grows up. Obviously, there's improvements yet to be made.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The pride I take in Darnell's maturing sustains me as I drive to Nellie Stone Johnson Elementary School every Wednesday and take on another year of challenge. After my time with Darnell, I had a year with three students, another year with one and this year with two. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Everybody Wins is no longer subsidized by the Bar Association. The volunteers chip in to cover school bus transportation costs for the weekly round trip from the Hennepin County Government Center. Judge Allan Oleisky, who administers the program, covers the shortfall out of his own pocket. I'm in the process of setting up a formal 501(c)(3) in order to be able to solicit a few thousand dollars from local foundations that support educational endeavors. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We have no choice but to keep the program going. There are a lot of Darnells out there. Reaching 150 students at one school for a year, through the efforts of one group of volunteers once a week, stands as a strong declaration that we are not going to allow a collapse of our public school system as it strives to serve populations of color.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Charlie was right. It is up to all of us to make, and act upon, a similar declaration. There are a number of reading mentoring programs in our community. Search online for "Minneapolis Reading Mentoring Programs" and Google will provide you with 1,370,000 results in 0.39 seconds. Your mentoring may never give you the pride and satisfaction I enjoy as I watch Darnell mature from a troubled, challenged second-grader to a Student Council officer and Academic All Star, but, more importantly, it might.</span><br />
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-10979994425730037412014-02-09T23:35:00.000-06:002014-02-09T23:35:04.641-06:00Joan of Art and Long Goodbyes<span style="font-size: large;">I am not much of a philosopher but weekends like this one demand some big picture reflection. It occurs to me that I've entered a sector in the Circle of Life that is going to involve acknowledging mortality and saying a lot of goodbyes. I am fairly certain that I will have more enthusiastically enjoyed the education, courtship, marriage, and nascent family sectors of the Circle. Since, however, being upright and in a position to face the emotional challenges of the end-of-life sector is better than the alternative, I need to find, and share, a coping mechanism to serve me and minimize the pain of loss.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On Saturday, I attended the funeral of Joan Mondale, our former Second Lady. I did not know her well, other than from her public persona. But one meeting in particular amounted to more than exchanging pleasantries at mutually attended political functions and I wanted to demonstrate the depth of my appreciation by paying my respects through my attendance at the funeral.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The meeting of significance occurred in 1978. Mrs. Mondale hosted a tea at the Vice President's Residence at the Naval Observatory in Washington D.C. I was given the opportunity to claim the invitation extended to our U.S. Senate office where I was Legislative Counsel. I don't recall the "why", other than to speculate that it would allow me to escort my recently widowed grandmother, who was visiting from Palm Springs. Escort Nana I did. Mrs. Mondale was a gracious hostess, giving her guests a tour of the Residence and discussing the art she had on display. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was a highlight of Nana's well-lived life. Nana had been to Monaco during Princess Grace's wedding. She'd brought back a llama skin from Machu Pichu in the 50's. She visited the pyramids in Giza before the Six Day War. She bought me my first transistor radio in Hong Kong in 1960. But she had never been accompanied by her attorney grandson to meet the wife of the Vice President of the United States. The pure joy experienced by my grandmother as a result of the kindness of Joan Mondale has stayed with me for the past 36 years. On Saturday, I had a chance to say "thank-you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was not alone. There were hundreds of attendees, all there to express their own thank-you. As I listened to the remembrances by Joan of Art's family and invited dignitaries, I thought about the idea that those who have left us live on in the memories of the goodness they shared during life. All the more reason to engage in some self-examination. Whatever your concept of an afterlife, nothing will matter more to your survivors than the depth of your compassion for others and the efforts made to enhance the lives of those whose path you've crossed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was clear from the love and admiration showered on Joan Mondale on Saturday that the memories she created, her passion for expanding awareness of the arts among all walks of life, and her ability to bond with disparate communities to promote peace and friendship will assure her a place in our hearts for a very long time. To paraphrase President Jimmy Carter's eulogy, she lived her life as a work of art.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While a mitzvah, saying "goodbye" at a funeral does not represent the most challenging aspect of the end-of-life Circle sector. The other thought provoking event of the weekend provided a greater challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A week ago, a lifelong friend, closer than family, collapsed and was taken to a nursing home. I've known him for 59 of my nearly 62 years. He financed my college education by hiring me to drive his trucks during the summer for Teamsters' wages of $7.00 an hour. $10.50 an hour after 8 in a day (Yesterday he reminded me I wasn't worth it). We celebrate all Jewish Holidays together. He loves my chopped liver. He insisted I learn to play golf and included me in his foursome every week until I could nearly break 100. His wife is my surrogate mother. I have vivid memories of him coming on the scene and chasing away an overly friendly adult male who approached me as I wandered from a family picnic when I was five. He's 92 (93 on Wednesday) and his Circle is nearly complete.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hope, pray and expect that he will survive his latest health setback. He's in good hands as he's guided through rehabilitation designed to return a modicum of strength to a troubled heart. Nonetheless, as we sat together and talked and laughed on Saturday, we both knew, without the need to say so, that most of our time together was already etched in memory. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I chastised him for not giving up his car. He gave me credit for being right but protested his loss of freedom if dependent on others or Metro Mobility. He described being bathed while naked by two female attendants, which I then described as an example of things at 92 that are better than driving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I was leaving, his grandson's family, including his two great-grandsons, arrived for a visit. The youngest, a month old, is his namesake. My friend had been beaming a half hour earlier when telling me that fact. The oldest great-grandson, nearly three, reveled in pushing great-grandpa in his wheelchair. Until he reads this a few years from now, the toddler will never understand how proud great-grandpa was of the photograph I had taken of him with his son, grandson and great-grandson that serves as the wallpaper on his iPad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Driving to the celebration of Joan Mondale's life from the nursing home, I hit upon my coping mechanism. While devastated at the prospect of what's to come, I am determined to treat each remaining encounter as a blessing, to create new memories and to let the object of my concern know how much he is loved and respected. I intend to contribute as much as possible to his peace of mind and appreciation for life and to his recognition of all the goodness he has created in the work of art that is his life.</span><br />
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<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-29629852628604565872014-01-25T11:45:00.000-06:002014-01-25T15:45:53.896-06:00Living Near Mars<span style="font-size: large;">I've had the good fortune to live in a lot of different parts of the country without being confined to an Army base. Everywhere else was south of St. Louis Park, where I grew up (although Northfield was merely 40 miles south).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwFxoK80HgyOXT8ttRPJqoO4egMK9bxqurDhu-LmyZyCZ_zCGNQjSqaDGuyX6VaK5Wr-D8UftOeB6yyjxIOO2c2osWYKivxEfXwVXUH0UkWmImHfw2glfMXVxor6VsYbIjGIXMhwau-UP/s1600/Leaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwFxoK80HgyOXT8ttRPJqoO4egMK9bxqurDhu-LmyZyCZ_zCGNQjSqaDGuyX6VaK5Wr-D8UftOeB6yyjxIOO2c2osWYKivxEfXwVXUH0UkWmImHfw2glfMXVxor6VsYbIjGIXMhwau-UP/s1600/Leaf.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">Whether living elsewhere, or visiting, I regularly field the question "How do you survive the winters in Minnesota?" My pat response is to describe Venus as being too hot to be habitable, Mars as being too cold and Minnesotans as residing just this side of Mars' survival zone. I may need new material.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Reports from Northern Minnesota this winter suggest that air temperatures are lower than the temperature on the surface on Mars. While there's been some quibbling about the accuracy of the claims, let's not sweat the small stuff. It is miserably cold out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here's how cold. I'm getting calls from all over asking if we're okay, typically from friends and family experiencing a 100 degree temperature differential.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My brother Jordan, who lives in Connecticut, called me at 6:50 a.m. this morning from the Bahamas. He'd seen the weather reports and wanted to check in. His timing resulted from assuming that I'd be up early on a Saturday morning tending to the horses. It didn't occur to him that, were that true, I probably would not have removed and/or rummaged through insulated coveralls, a sweatshirt, a long sleeve shirt, insulated jeans, flannel pajama pants, two pairs of socks, insulated boots, insulated gloves (worn inside mittens), a neck warmer and a ski mask to answer the phone and take his FaceTime call.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My blood-brother Bruce called several times from Los Angeles last night, concerned about the cold and that he couldn't reach me. Bruce hasn't lived in Minnesota since 1964 or so. His first assumption when he can't reach me is that I'm frozen mid-step between the office and the parking ramp. He inadvertently taunts me, as if the impatience is one-sided, by telling me that he can't wait to see me in March when I travel to L.A. for a national credit union directors' conference.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My father, who, thankfully, mailed me his no longer needed insulated jeans last fall, called from Yuma when he saw the weather reports. Normally, I describe Yuma as some Godforsaken good-for-nothing middle-of-nowhere senior holding pond. However, after observing the horses' breath float through the air in the barn this morning, it occurred to me that God forsakes no one and that there's a reason Dad no longer needs the insulated jeans.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We'll survive. I'm too old now to be one of those "Look at me! I'm riding a fat tired bike on the frozen lake!" guys. Or, at least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Those cyclists are nuts. I'm inside, pondering, enjoying our new Keurig coffee maker, enjoying the quiet calm of the Independence countryside, disturbed only by Deb's proficiency with the snow-blower.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">These issues are big; they are serious. We are all impacted by the outcome of the elections. The positions of competing candidates demand serious consideration. A vote in support for one candidate over another should be cast after a careful weighing of the qualifications and fitness for office of each of the competitors. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />I had planned to write generally about my frustration with the mindless name calling and fear-mongering that passes for electioneering these days. The appeals to our viscera shortcut the ability and willingness to look in depth at the merits of each candidate seeking our support. My need to deal in generalities fell by the wayside when I received a solicitation from Minnesota Eighth Congressional District candidate Stewart Mills.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have known Stewart Mills for about 20 years. We have mutual friends in the Gull Lake area and have socialized together. He has proven to be a valuable executive with the the Mills family businesses, negating jealous assumptions of nepotistic promotion. Mr. Mills has been a generous benefactor to local charities, providing support when asked to numerous fundraising ventures. I expect him to be formidable, well-funded candidate as he seeks to wrest the Eighth District seat from Congressman RickNolan and the DFL in November.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It would have been nice to have received campaign literature from Mr. Mills that signaled his intent to run a campaign on legitimate issues. It would have been refreshing to see this newcomer to politics renounce relying on soundbites and half truths to garner support. It would have been nice to see a display of courage evidenced by a discussion of substantive differences in approaches to addressing our nation's ills. Instead, yesterday's opening gambit from the would-be congressman was little more than mindless name calling and fear-mongering.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Consider the claims in Mr. Mills' literature. President Obama is </span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>hostile to small business owners (underlined and in boldfaced)</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>contemptuous of spending restraint</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>obsessed with raising taxes, and</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>hell-bent on a government takeover of health care.</i></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As to Congressman Nolan, the picture is just as frightening and just as short on substance. Congressman Nolan is</span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>to the left of President Barack Obama! (underlined and boldfaced)</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>an unapologetic liberal</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>recipient of an F (underlined and boldfaced) rating from the National Rifle Association</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>convinced that President Obama's health care takeover doesn't go far enough, and</i></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><i>an advocate of more Big Government stimulus spending despite the fact that the first round was a trillion dollars down the drain.</i></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;">Congressman Nolan's call for campaign finance reform is referred to as "welfare for politicians!" (underlined and boldfaced). According to Mr. Mills' literature, Congressman Nolan's "biggest gripe" is that "President Obama doesn't go far enough in his Far Left policies!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You get the idea. The solicitation consists of a four page letter, devoid of substance, but full of references to Reagan Republicans (good), Big Government (bad), repealing Obamacare (good), Nolan's liberalism (bad), Mills' business experience (good), Nolan's business experience (just kidding; not mentioned). Drop me a line and I'll send you the entire diatribe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I've said, I've known Stewart Mills for 20 years. But I've known Rick Nolan for nearly 37 years. We were acquaintances when I worked on Capitol Hill in the '70's (he had the better job). We became close friends when we both returned to Minnesota. I've had the honor of offering counsel to him, when asked, in his capacity as a Congressman, as a private citizen and most recently as a candidate. Rick Nolan is one of the most thoughtful, dedicated public servants I have had the pleasure to know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He has strived to make good on his 2012 promise to promote the civility in Congress he enjoyed during his first tenure in D.C. His stand on campaign finance, for example, is not a plea for "welfare for politicians". It is the result of his recognition of the very real damage sustained by us all when our elected representatives are expected to spend 36 hours a week fundraising just to meet the threshold of modern day campaign costs. Similarly, he takes President Obama to task for not pushing for a single payer system of health care first proposed by Republican politicians and generally acknowledged as the only way to successfully assure universal coverage. Recognizing that the Affordable Care Act is here to stay, he spends his time trying to fix its ills, not waste time on meaningless repeal votes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> My point here is not to argue for Congressman Nolan's views over Mr. Mills. That will likely come later. My point is that we should strive to be an educated electorate and demand that our candidates, Republican AND Democrat, rely on more than a series of inflammatory one-liners to earn our support.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Unflattering pictures of a bearded Rick Nolan from the '70's or attacks on his age are no more relevant to the issues in this campaign than complaints about the length of Stewart Mills' hair or his social exploits. When you see a campaign relying on such tactics, or on the scare tactics of Mr. Mills' campaign literature, it is time to stop and ask whether the proponent is so lacking in actual justification for his election that baseless pandering is the central theme of his or her effort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">No differently than any other job interview, a campaign should clearly identify the substance of the office-seeker and why he or she is the best person to fill the position. Few of us would seek employment by merely describing ourselves in platitudes to the interviewer and promising illusory solutions to the challenges posed by the job. A political candidate seeking our support should be held to the same standard we impose upon ourselves.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we sprint toward November 4, let's take the time to consider the actual merits of each candidate and refuse to accept easy answers and slick campaign promises as substitutes for thoughtful resolve to make a difference in public service.</span><br />
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-65692136879246669832014-01-04T13:22:00.000-06:002014-01-04T13:24:25.995-06:00Where Have You Gone, Spencer Tracy?<span style="font-size: large;">One of my earliest movie memories is being befuddled watching the 1960 screen adaptation of <i>Inherit the Wind</i>, a fictionalized telling of the 1925 Scopes "Monkey Trial". The movie probably aired on television in 1964 when I was 12. While I missed the parable about McCarthyism, which the country had recently survived, I was familiar with Darwin's theory of evolution. I could not believe that someone could be criminally prosecuted in 20th century America for teaching science in a public school classroom. My young mind cheered when the character based on William Jennings Bryant became flustered by Clarence Darrow's cross-examination, caught up by contradictions in "God's Word".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">By 12, I was an avid reader. I had been attending Hebrew School five days a week and Junior Congregation at our synagogue on Saturday for several years. I understood the concept of faith and the power of Biblical (Five Books of Moses) lessons. I viewed the lessons as stories, designed to guide me in my conduct in society. That remains true today. The idea that someone's religious beliefs could be imposed on society in general to mandate conduct, worse, <i>thinking</i>, was abhorrent. Live and let live. It never occurred to me that I should rail against my non-Jewish friends because they consumed pork or went to work on Yom Kippur. Their faith led them to behave in a different manner than mine did, albeit just as Godly from their point of view.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Forty years later, I am appalled that we take science and secular education so lightly in the U.S. that we are still having debates about whether our children should be taught evolution. While the modern approach by the proponents of Creationism is to artificially temper the impact of imposing religious beliefs by insisting that two theories of mankind's development be taught side by side, letting the students "choose", my abhorrence is not lessened. No one really believes that young students in an environment offering both religious and scientific theories to explain the development of our species freely and effectively weigh the merits of each. The insistence on injecting Creationism or "Divine Intervention" into a public school curriculum necessitates debunking the scientific theories that explain the process in less convenient terms.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If we focus on debunking science to mold minds to accept matters of religious faith, we sow generations of unthinking conformists. We reap the erosion of technological excellence and take a back seat to economies and cultures for whom education encourages acting on curiosity and distinguishes matters of faith.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We are already seeing the impact of co-mingling teaching matters of religious faith with the results of scientific study. According to the <a href="http://www.pewforum.org/2013/12/30/publics-views-on-human-evolution/" target="_blank">Pew Research Center</a>, only 60% of Americans believe in evolution; 33% do not. Members of Congress serving on the House <b><i>Science</i></b> Committee unabashedly proclaim that <a href="http://talkingpointsmemo.com/dc/meet-the-house-gop-s-anti-science-committee" target="_blank">"evolution, embryology and the Big Bank Theory" are Satan's work. </a> Incredibly, the handful of individuals in control of the committee in Congress responsible for approving legislation related to science, don't believe in science. More incredibly, there's not enough outrage from the public or courage by the Speaker of the House to effect the reassignment of the individuals to less conflicted positions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We have all been bombarded with allegations of <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/news/fears-of-sharia-law-in-america-grow-among-conservatives/" target="_blank">efforts to impose <i>Shari'ah</i> law</a> on Western Civilizations. They typically arrive in our emails or Facebook news feeds as urgent warnings to wake up to the rising birth rate among Muslims and the deference being shown to Islamic practices in American jurisdictions. Without getting into the accuracy of the warnings, I find it incredibly ironic that the religious right in the United States, terrified at the prospect of having someone else's religious beliefs imposed to control their secular activities, fails to recognize that governing in accordance with Biblical passages is just as threatening to our Constitutional system of government.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We are free to practice our respective religions. We are not entitled, in public forums like public schools, to impose our religion and the faith on which it is based on everyone else. Parochial schools offer a solution for parents determined to emphasize the Almighty's interaction in the world around us. Let us insist that religious indoctrination be limited to schools affiliated with churches, synagogues, mosques, ashrams and the like. Let us also encourage a vigorous examination and questioning of scientific principles without threatening God's wrath on those who do so.</span>Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-66126959922128578482014-01-01T20:04:00.002-06:002014-01-04T16:45:50.134-06:00Thank You, Molly<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Observation 1: </i>My daughter-in-law, Molly BD Stern, posted a comment on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/slstern/posts/10151978795914213?comment_id=29101098&offset=0&total_comments=7" target="_blank">Facebook</a> a week or so ago in which she asked when I was going to return to blogging. This proves that God put our in-laws on the Earth, a generation or so after we'd become set in fixed behavioral patterns, in order to push us in directions immediate family members knew better than pursue.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Observation 2:</i> My good friend and prolific blogger, Charlie Leck (<a href="http://chasblogs.blogspot.com/">chasblogs.blogspot.com</a>), has often noted that he writes to give his grandchildren insight into their grandfather, preserving an ancestral log for generations to come.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Observation 3: </i>Today is January 1, 2014. As the first day of the year, tradition dictates that we make resolutions as we look to the future and acknowledge shortcomings of the past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Observation 4: </i>Tying it all together, God willing, 2014 is the year in which my daughter-in-law will make me a grandfather for the first time. I have resolved, again, to follow Charlie's example and to acquiesce to Molly's request, and spend some time this year pondering from the prairie.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My failure to maintain this blog over the past couple of years did not result from a lack of opinions. It resulted from the inability to overcome the sense of futility felt at the prospect of sharing opinions with a public not interested in discourse outside the scope of propagandistic soundbites. I love to write. I do a lot of writing as part of my profession. But it is excruciatingly difficult to allocate time to the process when you feel like you might as well be baying at the moon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We shall see how this goes. My plan is to write frequently, but briefly. My plan is to post links on Facebook and LinkedIn and encourage discourse. I may not always be civil, nor always politic. I will respect the opinions of others as long as they result from honest introspection developed from reasoned analysis. I will not hesitate to express my own reasoned analysis to ridicule charlatans and politi-bries (my word) who promote themselves by taking pages from the Joseph Goebbels' Big Lie playbook. And, to keep it light, I will rely on puff pieces from time to time, likely to highlight my photography or personal relationships.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Somehow, January 1, 2014 seems like the perfect date to relaunch <b>Prairie Pondering</b>. In 2014, my son will become a father, my daughter will become a bride, my friend Rick Nolan will seek well-deserved reelection to Congress and <i>(to be continued).</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSUqP4mWKtEs8KIHsq9_DolwWwpaQ77FMmwWdXd_DIaErUYdnKyY5xQVcsGYNOKYzQ6jxio5EeZabFIj1ADe4d2qjvG8qwvG1KF3LV-6pEA_e0VsE96mJ5I5thjwDjO-KTnqEXN9KLolF/s1600/G.+Keillor's+Underwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSUqP4mWKtEs8KIHsq9_DolwWwpaQ77FMmwWdXd_DIaErUYdnKyY5xQVcsGYNOKYzQ6jxio5EeZabFIj1ADe4d2qjvG8qwvG1KF3LV-6pEA_e0VsE96mJ5I5thjwDjO-KTnqEXN9KLolF/s320/G.+Keillor's+Underwood.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">G. Keillor's Underwood Typewriter</span></div>
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Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-19001745212717148852012-11-08T23:38:00.000-06:002012-11-09T06:31:38.460-06:00Hope and Change 2.0<span style="font-size: large;">The 2012 presidential election is two days behind us and I'm still giddy. The thrill of victory is all the sweeter by my appreciation for the agony of the GOP's defeat. Last Sunday, while watching the Fox News show with Chris Wallace, I was worried. Fox's talking heads were predicting an Electoral College landslide for Mitt Romney. For weeks, my conservative friends had been sharing analysis demonstrating that President Obama's support among young and minority voters did not approach anything near 2008 levels. The continuing high unemployment rate and slow pace of economic recovery made it impossible for the president to get re-elected. Wisconsin was a shoe-in for Governor Romney as evidenced by Governor Walker's repudiation of recall efforts. Elizabeth Warren was a fraud whose success germinated from lying about her heritage on her resume. Nevada's concentration of Mormons and foreclosed real estate assured placement in the Romney column. Florida's Jewish voters had received the message that President Obama had thrown Israel under the bus and the state's governor was doing his best to suppress the vote of likely supporters of the president. Constitutional amendments on the ballot in Minnesota designed to bring conservatives to the polls would threaten Minnesota's traditional blue status. The multi-million dollar final blitz by GOP Super-pacs was going to eviscerate support for the president.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was all too much to bear. It made it impossible to rationally believe in Nate Silver's 538 Blog assessment that President Obama was strongly favored to win re-election. Now, how sweet it is!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The reality is that the GOP campaign was based on inflammatory rhetoric rather than substance. The governor's supporters drank their own Kool-Aid and (to mix metaphors) believed that the seeds of hate for the president they'd been sowing for four years would take root and wipe Democrats off the Electoral map.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't get me wrong. The country has serious problems facing it at home and abroad. All of us need to be concerned about them. But the GOP strategy of spending four years obstructing every effort the president made to address those problems and then smearing him for being ineffectual ultimately did not sell. The efforts to rile up the under-educated white male base with racist dog whistle references to the president's heritage, religion, Socialist leanings and past associations failed to bring enough lemmings in to make a difference. Attempts to manipulate the electorate by suppressing likely Democrats and baiting conservatives with inflammatory constitutional amendments backfired. Democratic turnout was enhanced in response to these not-so-subtle attacks on the moderate/liberal electorate.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have a lot more to say about the election and about the frustrations felt to my core with the direction conservatives want to take us. That's for later. Several friends have commented that, in the weeks leading up to the election, I seemed to be getting cranky and condescending in my online exchanges in social media. I plead "guilty" and owe them an explanation. It's coming. Now that Obama 2.0 is uploaded, I am no longer willing to sit silently while uninformed Fox News ventriloquist dummies tear down our country and its president.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For now, I'll just leave you with this: I want to believe that Hurricane Sandy played a major role in undermining Governor Romney's campaign efforts and results. The poetic justice of a natural disaster enhanced by climate change and referred to as an Act of God being responsible for the defeat of a climate change mocker whose base claimed God as their own is too marvelous for words.</span><br />
<br />Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-85518994988211774432012-07-20T07:29:00.000-05:002012-07-20T07:29:23.103-05:00More Signs of Reason Gone Mad<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Among the senselessness that comes to mind when reading about last night's shooting at a movie theater in Aurora is the knowledge that someone working for the NRA will arrive at the office today and be tasked with doing damage control. Worse, 2nd Amendment fanatics will start decrying "liberals" for using this as an excuse to try to violate their Constitutional rights. Welcome to the other side of the Looking Glass.</span>Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315528367583495916.post-70414009925167799852012-07-19T22:40:00.003-05:002012-07-19T22:57:49.650-05:00R.I.P. Tom Davis<h1 class="articleHeadline" itemprop="headline" style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.083em; margin: 0px 0px 8px; text-align: left;">
<nyt_headline type=" " version="1.0"><span style="font-size: large;">Tom Davis, Comedian and ‘SNL’ Sketch Writer, Dies at 59</span></nyt_headline></h1>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/20/arts/television/tom-davis-saturday-night-live-comedy-writer-dies-at-59.html?_r=1&smid=fb-share">This</a> is so sad and sobering. When I was a senior at UCLA, I lived in West L.A., near a bar/club where Franken and Davis did stand-up. I ran into them one night. I had met Al while visiting mutual friends from SLP at Harvard a couple of year</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">s before and we shared other close friends. They were looking for a ride back to Minneapolis and we spent a couple of minutes figuring out if it would work to go back together. That didn't work out (would have been a Hell of a trip) but I've always remembered what a nice guy Tom seemed to be. He was my age and on a completely different career path. The fact that he's now "inanimated", reminds me of a special time of my youth and the reality of its passing. He's left me with a new (again) appreciation for enjoying each day that Life offers. R.I.P Mr. Davis. My condolences on your loss, Senator.</span></span>Sam Sternhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08477144625423977542noreply@blogger.com0